


hate me, so you can finally see what's good for you

by notfirewoodyet



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfirewoodyet/pseuds/notfirewoodyet
Summary: “You promised me,” Robb reminds, intertwining their fingers together.Theon did promise.  He remembers.  But, he’s going to have to break it—for Robb’s sake.This is all for Robb.





	hate me, so you can finally see what's good for you

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't posted on here for a while. I have about six completed Theon/Robb fics that have been sitting in my hard drive forever, and I thought I should at least publish one. I am my own beta, so sorry for any mistakes. I tried to catch as many as I could.
> 
> Happy reading!

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and bounces his right knee incessantly in a pathetic attempt to calm himself down. He’s been sitting in his car outside his father’s house for twenty minutes, and he’s thought about turning his beloved Mustang around no less than fifteen times. 

Asha had called him bright and early in the morning, barking into his ear and telling him that he needed to go see their father. “I know you’ve never had a good relationship with him,” she had said in her usual no-nonsense tone. “But, the man’s dying. You need to go say goodbye.” With those parting words, she hung up with a sharp click, and he was left to flop onto his back, feeling the mattress bounce underneath him. He cursed himself for even answering the phone.

He buried his face into his pillow and reached out towards Robb’s side of the bed. He was already gone of course. School teachers, he has learned after four years of living with the guy, have to leave to work insanely early. He has the luxury of having the day off today, but now he wishes he didn’t so he could at least have an excuse for ignoring Asha’s request, or rather, command.

Of course, he ended up giving in because there is a small, almost miniscule, part of him that can admit she’s right. He’s never liked the man much, and the feeling is completely mutual, but he is still his father, and even though he won’t mourn the sad excuse for a life that Balon Greyjoy led, he may regret never wishing him a proper farewell.

He steps out of his car after another ten minutes of stalling, and he inhales a large gulp of air to try and settle his anxiety, but it’s no use. The air around the house is muggy, stale, and smells of smoke, just like the inside. He may just be off his rocker and making it up in his own head, that’s always a likely possibility, but he’ll never forget the scent of his childhood home, no matter how much he may want to.

Straightening his shoulders, he heads up the cracked driveway and ascends the stairs leading towards the front door, making sure to snatch the spare key from the hanging plant adorning the porch. It’s a pitiful attempt at trying to add life to this place. He makes sure to avoid the third step, it’s always been a temperamental and creaky son of a bitch, after years of being conditioned to do so. If his father ever caught him sneaking in after a curfew, well, he would be sporting a brand new black eye the next day.

When he strolls into the cramped living room, he has a brief moment of panic where he thinks that Maron might be in the house. He really doesn’t want to see his brother. All his memories of him include relentless teasing, cruel insults and taunts, and broken bones. Rodrick always joined in on the harsh antics, but Rodrick is long since gone. He died almost eight years ago now in some pointless gang fight, and he thinks maybe he should feel bad for thinking about his deceased brother so callously, but he never had any affection for him. The only sibling he’s ever had a good relationship with is Asha, and he’s not sure if their definition of a good relationship would actually coincide with anybody else’s. 

Luckily, the house seems to be empty. The narrow hallway leading towards his father’s room is dark and cold, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining things this time. He reaches for the doorknob with a shaky hand, and he takes a deep breath before pushing open the weary slab of wood. It creaks. Of course it does. He wonders if anything in this house doesn’t. It would seem the house is dying right along with its only inhabitant. 

His father is laying on his bed with nothing but a cheap bedside lamp to illuminate the space. As he approaches him, he notices that he’s a lot thinner than the last time he saw him. But, that makes sense, since the last time he saw his father was about a year and a half ago, and, well, he’s dying.

It’s no surprise that he’s dying either. He could only ingest endless streams of cigarettes and alcohol before his body decided to rebel and give up on him completely. He wonders how his father feels knowing that something has given up on him.

“Theon,” his father croaks once he comes into his line of vision, and it will always amaze him how his father can manage to lace so much malice into a single word.

“Father,” he replies coldly, dragging the plastic chair perched in the corner of the room closer to the bed, but not too close. He sits down on it, and holds his body rigidly.

“What are you doing here?” Balon questions, trying and failing to scoot himself up into a sitting position, and he wonders if he’s an asshole because he enjoys watching his father struggle. “Come to mock me in my final moments? Get a few good blows in since I can’t fight back?”

“No,” Theon responds as calmly as he can. “I just thought I would come to say goodbye since you seem to be on your last legs,” he finishes, raking his eyes over his father’s frail form with barely concealed disgust.

“A bit late to get sentimental, don’t you think?” Balon laughs, and it’s a throaty, awful sound. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to miss your old man.”

“Not even a little bit,” Theon answers quickly with as much contempt as he can muster. His father shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a small grin coloring his features like that’s the answer he expected all along.

“So,” Balon grunts after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “Where’s the snob?”

Theon wishes his father would stop being so spiteful, but he supposes that’s too much to expect from Balon Greyjoy. 

He’s been best friends with Robb for twenty years, ever since they were both five-years-old, and his father has disapproved of it for just as long. He knows his father’s resentment stems from some age-old conflict that he has with Robb’s father that pre-dates Robb and Theon both, but despite the snide comments, Balon’s never talked much about it, and Ned’s too much of a good human being to ever talk badly about Balon in front of Theon, even though Theon wouldn’t take any offense to it. 

His father has always said that the Starks are an arrogant bunch with an air of superiority that makes him gag, and that’s why he dubbed Robb with the off-base nickname of ‘snob’, because if he couldn’t prevent Theon from being best friends with the son of the man he detested to his very core, then he was going to make sure to belittle the boy at every opportunity. Balon probably thought he was being so clever with the rhyme too.

“Obviously he’s not here,” Theon snaps, but he proceeds to focus on breathing in and out because he refuses to rise to the bait.

“Why?” his father snorts in a way that is completely undignified, which means it suits him perfectly. “Did he finally get sick of you? I knew it would happen eventually. It was only a matter of time.” His father sends him a nasty sneer, with blatant notes of satisfaction sprinkled throughout, and Theon’s hands grip the armrests tightly.

Breathe in and out. Breathe in and out. Breathe in and out.

“No, he’s at work,” he says coolly, willing his fingers to loosen their iron grasp, but it’s of no use.

“That boy is too dumb for his own good.”

“Just shut up about him,” he spits out, and he’s sure that if he looks down, his knuckles would be white. “I’ve already told you that I don’t like you talking about him.”

And he has. He’s told his father countless times that he won’t tolerate him insulting Robb right in front of him. He would have stood up for Robb a lot more when he was younger too if he wasn’t deathly afraid of the fist that would surely fly towards his face as soon as he got the words out.

His father puts his hands up in mock surrender, and there’s that ever present sneer. Theon wants to punch it right off his mouth.

“Don’t worry, son,” Balon whispers, and he says the word ‘son’ with all the care and compassion of a serial killer slicing open his latest victim. “Sooner or later, you’ll find a way to fuck it up.”

Theon wants to scoff. He wants to roll his eyes and tell his father that he’s full of shit, but he stays rooted to his spot. 

“You know it’s true,” his father continues, and he looks like he’s enjoying this way too much, which isn’t surprising. Cutting Theon down is one of his father’s favorite past times. “You may act like you’re so much better than us, but deep down, you know you’re not. You and that boy, you’ll never last. You’re a Greyjoy. You’ll ruin it beyond all repair.”

He wants to deny it. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs until his throat is bloody raw that his father is wrong about him. He’s always been wrong. And he wants to kill his father before the cancer can finish its destructive job on him.

So, why can’t he tell his father that he’s wrong? He’s so damn wrong. Why can’t he fucking say it? There’s a small voice in his head telling him the answer, but he blocks the voice out. He’s been blocking it out for years. Because he knows, he knows damn well, that if he opened the door, that stupid voice would plant a seed of doubt in his brain that would eventually cause him to implode in on himself, consequently taking down everything—or everyone—around him.

He abruptly stands from the chair, the rusted legs scraping mercilessly against the linoleum floor. He can’t hear any more of this. Because if he does, well if he does, he thinks that voice will get harder and harder to shut out. 

“Enjoy hell,” Theon quips, although it comes out with less bite than he was intending. He hates how his father can still make him feel like a scared little boy.

“Enjoy what’s left of your miserable life,” Balon replies with a self-satisfied tone. “And remember what I told you. I want you to think of me when your perfect little world comes crashing down around you.”

Theon races out of the house as fast as he can and slams the front door behind him, throwing the spare key carelessly in the general vicinity of the porch. He waits until he gets in his car to let the tears fall.

He never should have come.

\----------

He tries. He really does. He tries his absolute damndest not to let his father’s words get to him, but it’s hopeless. He can pretend that ever since he returned from his ill-fated trip to his father’s house that he hasn’t let his cruel and taunting words fester until it’s all he can think about, but that’s exactly what it would be—pretending. A lie, and a wholly unconvincing one at that.

Robb notices there’s something plaguing him. Of course he does. But, he doesn’t push. He never has, and that’s one of the many things Theon loves about him. He’s always patiently waited for Theon to sort through his issues on his own, and lets Theon come to him when he’s ready to do so. But, he doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Robb about this. He’s not even sure he wants to.

Asha texts him two days after her first rude awakening with a simple message: “ _Dad’s dead. Funeral’s on Thursday._ ”

Well then. That’s that.

He doesn’t sleep the night before the funeral. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately anyway. And it’s not out of sadness or grief. It’s out of worry and paranoia that can be attributed to those eight words that have been ringing in his head on an endless loop like the world’s most annoying alarm clock, if the world’s most annoying alarm clock beat you over the head with your worst fears and insecurities.

_You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up._

“You okay in here?” Robb asks, his curly-haired head popping in through the door of their bedroom before he steps in completely. “We have to leave in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Theon sighs, beginning on his third attempt to tie his tie, but his fingers aren’t cooperating with him. They’re fumbling all over the place. He sighs again, and Robb gives him a soft smile.

“Let me,” Robb supplies, grabbing Theon by the shoulders so he can fully face him. 

He does up the tie with confident movements, and he even finishes it off with the Windsor knot, which Theon has never been able to accomplish. It’s the simple knot for him. Robb tightens it against the top button of his dark blue button-up, fixes his collar, and proceeds to smooth his hands down Theon’s chest. He’s wearing that soft smile on his face again, and Theon wants to cry just looking at it.

Robb leans forward to kiss him, but Theon dodges it effortlessly. He moves his head to the side, so Robb’s lips end up on his jaw. He moves away from Theon with confusion swimming through his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably thinks Theon’s weirdness is a side effect of his father’s death, and this is just his fucked-up attempt at coping with the loss. 

He doesn’t feel the loss though. Not like normal, well-adjusted people with a healthy family dynamic would anyway. How is he supposed to mourn the man who by all biological rights was his father, but was never his dad? 

Because Theon does have a dad. It’s Ned Stark. And he doesn’t know where he would have ended up if he didn’t have that man in his life looking out for him. He doesn’t know where he would be without any of the Starks, even Jon in all his solemn glory. He would never admit that to him though.

So, no. He didn’t move away from Robb because he’s in some morphed state of grief. He moved away because every time Robb touches him now, with the tenderness that’s been an inherent part of him for as long as Theon has known him, he can’t help but to hear those words again.

_You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up._

Theon swings on his suit jacket before the atmosphere between them can get even _more_ awkward, and he high-tails it towards the front door. He hears Robb’s shoes scuffing along the hardwood floor behind him.

The air is crisp when they get out of the car, and they head towards the grassy hills that have a six-foot deep hole adorning them. He almost wants to laugh at the pitiful turnout. His father was a miserable bastard, so it’s only fitting really that his funeral should reflect that.

Asha and Maron are already here, along with Euron, his only surviving uncle, who looks to be hungover. He purposefully got here right on time so he didn’t have to talk to them. Maron especially. But the asshole finds his way towards him with a sneer on his face that eerily resembles his father’s.

“Surprised you showed up, little brother,” Maron chuckles dryly, and there’s that similarity to Balon again. “You’ve ignored us for this long, what’s a little more, right?”

Theon rolls his eyes in response, even though his brother can’t see him since he’s wearing sunglasses, and tries to swerve passed him, but Maron stops him with a rough hand on his shoulder. 

“What?” Maron questions with a hard edge to his voice. “Are you too good to talk to the likes of me?”

“Fuck off,” Theon bites out, trying to slip by him for a second time, and there goes the jerky shove to his shoulder.

Theon chances a quick glance to his side, and he sees that Robb has clenched his left hand together into a fist. His knuckles are as white as snow. He knows Robb won’t hit Maron, and that’s precisely why his fingernails are currently biting into his palm. It’s because he _can’t_ hit his brother in a fucking cemetery. It’s poor form to fight at a funeral.

Before Theon and Maron can devolve into a whirlpool of insults and threats, Asha steps in between the two of them with a stern look.

“We’re about to start,” she says swiftly, “so, will you two kindly quit your shit long enough for us to bury our father? And can we all please pretend to be civilized human beings for twenty fucking minutes?”

They both begrudgingly nod their heads. “Good,” she finishes, before whisking away and going to stand by the minister. 

It’s an odd sight to see. They’ve never been a religious family, and that’s why it was decided to forgo the church portion of the funeral. Honestly, if any of them stepped inside it, Maron and Euron in particular, it would probably go up in flames.

When he takes his place in the shabby semi-circle of “mourners,” he looks around to see who else could possibly want to be here. Other than the four Greyjoys and Robb, there are only seven other people present. He knows the six bored looking ones make up the small staff at the bar his father owned, that Asha has taken over manning for the past few years, and the seventh one is Cleftjaw in all his brash ruggedness.

Cleftjaw is the manager of Pyke Pub, and unlike the other staff members who were most likely dragged here against their will, he actually liked Balon. Theon has no fucking idea why, but the two were friends until the day he died. He thinks Cleftjaw was his father’s only friend. What a sad fucking thought.

The minister speaks for a few minutes, and Theon knows this is the part where the minister is supposed to wax poetic about the life of Balon Greyjoy and remark to the character of the person they are all here to say goodbye to, but that would be an almost impossible feat, and they all know it. 

The only one out of Balon’s three remaining children who would have anything remotely nice to say is Maron. Asha never had a bad relationship with Balon, no, Theon was the sole recipient of that honor, but she knows who the man was. She’s never tried to make excuses for him, and that’s why she’s the only person in Theon’s family that he can tolerate, and even like sometimes.

Asha delivers the eulogy, and it’s respectful, but slightly detached. Like he said, she knows who the man was.

She most likely thought of the eulogy as an obligation rather than a privilege, because out of the three of them, she’s the only one who can be trusted not to make a fool out of herself.

After that, Theon, Asha, and Maron stand in a line in front of where the coffin is propped up. Asha positions herself in the middle in case she has to play mediator. They watch as their father’s body is lowered into the damp earth, and once the coffin has cleared the top of the rectangular-shaped hole, the minister instructs the three of them to grab a handful of dirt from the pile right beside them and throw it in. Maron and Asha throw their handfuls in at the same time. Theon rolls his eyes and follows a few seconds after.

He wipes his hand on his slacks. They’re black. Who cares if they get a bit dirty? He abruptly turns on his heel, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone, and he starts heading towards the car that is calling to him like a beacon. He jerks his head when he passes Robb, wordlessly telling him that he wants to fucking go right the fuck now.

\----------

Robb slips into the driver’s side after Theon slams the passenger’s side door with unnecessary force, and he immediately starts up the car. He waits until he’s eased them onto the main road to say anything.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks quietly. He starts to inch his free hand towards Theon’s, but he retreats once he realizes what he’s doing. Theon’s body language is completely closed off, and Robb gets the message.

Theon roughly nods his head in response, and he proceeds to lean his forehead on the cool glass of the window. He watches the city whiz by in front of him, and he feels himself begin to calm.

He thinks that maybe he should talk to Robb, because if the last few days have proved anything, it’s that he doesn’t do well when he’s left in his head for too long. He stays quiet.

They’re headed towards the Stark house instead of his father’s. Asha had texted him two days ago, letting him know that after the funeral they were all going to gather at their father’s house. He didn’t know why. He supposes it was her way of trying to do this whole funeral thing properly. She asked him if he wanted to go, and he sent her a short “hell no” as an answer.

But, the Starks want to see him, and Theon agreed to this visit. Robb told him that they’re all worried about him, and want to see how he’s doing. It makes sense. They don’t know the full extent of Theon’s horrible relationship with his father, Robb’s the only one who does, but they’ve gathered enough over the years to know that it wasn’t close to healthy.

Robb’s barely given a single knock on the door before it’s flying open to reveal an energetic Arya Stark, who promptly jumps on her unsuspecting brother. Apparently Arya has forgotten the fact that she’s seventeen not seven, but he can’t help but to shake his head fondly at her antics.

“Robb!” she yells for no reason at all, and Robb winces. “Hi, Theon,” she says with a quick wave of her hand, before she latches onto Robb’s neck.

“Arya Stark, get off your brother this instant,” a sharp voice says from the foyer. Catelyn Stark got a good look at Robb’s pained face and decided to take pity on him. 

“We’re just playing around, mom,” Arya deadpans, but she lowers herself down to the ground anyway. 

“I’m sure,” Catelyn responds with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Theon,” she says, turning to face him with a soft smile that is so much like Robb’s it’s painful. “How are you doing, dear?”

She reaches out to hug him before he can even respond, and he tenses up when she wraps her thin arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t know if she doesn’t feel how rigid his body is, or if she’s choosing to ignore it. She doesn’t hold him for long though. She pulls back after a few moments, and she runs a hand through his hair like she used to do when he and Robb were little boys, and she would tuck them both into Robb’s comfy bed. He smiles at the familiar gesture, and it’s a genuine one.

“I’m good,” he croaks out, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. It doesn’t look like she quite believes him, but she doesn’t press. Like mother like son.

“Well come in, come in,” she says, ushering them all inside with a wave of her hand. “Rickon hasn’t stopped talking about how excited he is to see you. It’s been a while since you both have visited us,” she finishes with a pointed look at Robb. Robb ducks his head like he always does when his mother admonishes him.

“Sorry,” he says meekly. “Been busy.” Catelyn raises a single, sculpted eyebrow, but she has a grin playing at the corners of her mouth, so Theon knows that she isn’t seriously mad at Robb. She just misses him.

As soon as they make their way into the living room, it’s Theon’s turn to get tackled. Rickon wraps his arms around Theon’s waist with a grip that is far too tight for any eleven-year-old, and he looks up at Theon with a toothy smile, shaking his head to move the light, curly hair off his face. 

“Theon!” Rickon sing-songs, keeping his arms secured exactly where they are. “I missed you!”

“I’m here too, squirt,” Robb reminds from his place on the couch next to Jon. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Rickon answers, not taking his blue eyes off of Theon’s face. 

Rickon has idolized Theon since he was old enough to register who people were. Theon’s never understood it, because he’s never done anything to deserve it. It didn’t matter to Rickon though, if him clamoring for Theon to read him his bedtime stories, begging for Theon to attend his little league games, and coming to Theon a little more than six months ago for girl advice were any indication.

“I missed you too,” Theon admits with a more subdued smile than the one Rickon is giving him, and he ruffles his hair. Rickon buries his face in his chest before letting him go.

“Greyjoy,” Jon says, fiddling with a loose thread on the over-sized couch. 

“Snow,” Theon responds, nodding his head in greeting.

They’ve always called each other by their surnames. It isn’t out of contempt. It’s just the way they’ve always been. He’s never been close with Jon, even though he’s only two years older than he and Robb, but they’ve just never had much in common. Despite that, it would be weird if Jon was absent, and Theon’s glad he’s here.

Bran strolls in next, and Theon almost does a double-take, because _holy shit_. The kid’s taller than him now. 

“Bran? What the hell have you been taking?” Theon jokes, watching as a shy grin blooms across his face. It’s always smiles and grins with the Starks, never sneers, and he once again thinks about where he would be without this family. “You know steroids are bad for you, right man?”

“It’s called being fifteen. I’m still growing,” Bran answers, hunching his shoulders as though he’s still not used to his height. 

Bran gives him a pat on the back because he’s just as affectionate as Jon is. Theon returns the gesture, and his eyes scan the room. He’s greeted four Stark kids, he’s only missing one. And, ah, there she is.

Sansa walks in from the kitchen with her long, red hair flowing behind her. And, unless his eyes are playing tricks on him, she’s gotten even more beautiful than the last time he saw her.

“Theon,” she says brightly, like she’s genuinely happy to see him. She’s never greeted him any other way. 

She’s six years younger than he and Robb, but he cares for her in a way that he imagines is indicative of a brother and a little sister. She’s sweet and compassionate and she has a good head on her shoulders. He’s always wanted the best for her.

“Sansa,” he says, trying and failing to match the cheeriness in her tone. It doesn’t matter to her though. She rushes towards him, throwing her long arms around him, and squeezing him against her. She doesn’t say anything when she holds him. She just rubs his back with a soothing hand a few times before stepping away. She looks at him with her sparkling blue eyes, and there it is. The empathy that she always carries around with her is shining through them.

“How are you doing?” she whispers, bowing her head the slightest bit, and holding both of his hands in hers. 

“Good,” he says, because he doesn’t know what _else_ to say. He’s not _good_ , of course he’s not, but he can’t tell them that. Just like Mrs. Stark, she doesn’t look like she buys it, and just like Mrs. Stark, she doesn’t make him tell her how he really feels.

Well, that takes care of the kids. He’s just missing one person to see. He cranes his head, looking all around the room, as if Ned Stark isn’t larger than life and easily spotted wherever he goes.

“He’ll be right out,” Catelyn interjects, recognizing what, or rather who, Theon is looking for. “He’s just finishing up a call in his office.”

“Robb,” Arya pipes up suddenly, startling everyone around her. “You owe me a rematch, remember?” She’s snaking out the chessboard from under the coffee table in the middle of the room and setting it up before Robb can tell her if he does, in fact, remember.

They all gather around once she finishes placing the final king on the board, because watching Robb and Arya play chess, or any game really, is always entertaining. 

Theon hangs back, leaning against the archway that separates the living room and the hallway. He’s content to watch the Starks from afar. Robb gives him a searching look, but Theon waves off his concern with a flick of his wrist. 

Five minutes into the furious battle of Stark vs. Stark, Ned walks into the room, and Theon feels a warm sensation settle into the pit of his stomach. Robb pauses the game to give his father a firm hug and update Ned on his life. He laughs along with Robb’s comments in that hearty way he always does, and Theon feels that warm sensation flutter.

Ned finally turns his head to look at Theon slumped against the entryway, and he smiles at him in the way he _always_ has—genuine, inviting, and _paternal_. He walks towards him with large strides, and Theon feels another pair of arms go around him, except these are stronger than all the rest.

He wants to make this a quick hug, just like all the others had been, but he just _can’t_. He grips Ned’s broad back as tightly as he can manage, swallowing passed the sudden lump in his throat. He keeps his eyes closed, because he doesn’t want to deal with looking at all the Starks’ faces right now. He knows they’ll all be sending him pitying glances.

So, he keeps his eyes closed to block all that out. He doesn’t want to see.

What he doesn’t see is Catelyn and Sansa staring at them with a hand over their hearts, Arya and Jon fidgeting with their hands because they’ve never done well with an overabundance of emotion, Bran rubbing his palms against his jeans and looking at them in that pensive way he always seems to have, Rickon gaping at them like he wants to join in because he hates seeing Theon so sad, and Robb tilting his head in concern, but looking at his father’s back while thinking about how grateful he is that his dad always played the same role for Theon.

Ned steps back once Theon’s grip has loosened, but he keeps his hands clasped on Theon’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father,” he says softly, boring his gaze into Theon’s eyes.

It used to unnerve Theon whenever Ned would look at him like that when he was younger. He used to think Ned looked at him that way because he was seeing Theon for who he truly was—a huge fuckup, who had no business being around his son. But, he soon learned better. Ned looks at people that way because he _cares_ , and he wants the person he’s looking at to know it.

“Don’t be,” Theon whispers, and he hates how shaky his voice sounds. “You know it doesn’t matter.”

“I can understand why it wouldn’t,” Ned replies, keeping his tone low to keep the conversation between them. “But, you know,” he starts, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze, “it’s okay if it does.”

Theon nods, because he thinks if he even attempts to say anything right now he’s gonna start bawling, and that’s the last thing he wants to happen. Ned gives him one last squeeze before leaving him to compose himself.

He tries to conspicuously wipe his damp eyes on his shoulder, but he can see from the corner of his eye that Robb is staring at him, so he makes a beeline for the bathroom to wash his face. He allows himself a few minutes of leaning against the porcelain sink and breathing deeply before he walks out to face them all again.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a flurry of laughter, endless chatter, and plenty of food. He and Robb can cook decently for themselves, but nothing beats Mrs. Stark’s cooking. He missed it. He missed this house. But, most of all, he missed these people—his family.

He and Robb head out a little after eight o’clock, and Mrs. Stark sends them off with a kiss on their cheeks and enough food to last them a week, perfectly arranged in Tupperware she knows she’ll never see again. 

The half-hour drive back to their flat is shrouded in silence. The only noises in the car comes from the thrum of the engine and the guitar riffs flowing through the radio. 

As soon as they get through the front door, Theon flings his wrinkled jacket onto the back of the nearest couch. The sleeves of his button-up are already rolled up, so he busies himself with loosening his tie and unfastening the top three buttons of his shirt to reveal his muscle shirt underneath. He leaves the undone tie hanging around his neck, and then he wrings his hands together because he’s out of things to occupy himself with.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks, planting himself in front of Theon, but still trying not to appear overbearing. 

“You’ve been asking me that all day,” Theon says tiredly, letting out a deep breath and hoping Robb will just drop this.

“That’s because I’m waiting for you to give me an honest answer,” Robb replies and Theon sighs.

A part of him wants to tell Robb to fuck off and run to their bedroom in a dramatic flair, while another part of him wants to bury his face in Robb’s shoulder and let him take care of him like he knows he’s been wanting to do for the last few days.

The latter wins out.

He moves forward at the same time Robb does, and he buries his face in Robb’s sturdy shoulder just like he wanted to. Robb tangles his fingers in his hair and rests his cheek against Theon’s temple.

“It’s okay,” Robb shushes him, continuously running his cool digits through Theon’s hair. “It’s okay, baby. Shh.”

It takes him a while to even realize he’s shaking, and he wonders for how long that’s been happening. No wonder Robb is holding him so tightly. He’s probably trying to keep him upright. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, or hours, Theon doesn’t fucking know, until he feels himself start to still. Robb lets him go, but he keeps his hands positioned at his waist to keep him close. Robb leans into kiss him, just like he did this morning, but Theon ducks his head, so that his forehead is resting against Robb’s chin. 

“Can we just go to sleep?” Theon asks quietly, his warm breathing huffing out against the hollow of Robb’s throat. “I’m so fucking exhausted.”

“Of course,” Robb agrees, taking Theon by the wrist and leading him towards their bedroom. 

While Robb leaves the room to turn off all the lights around their flat, Theon quickly changes into his pajamas and gets underneath the covers. When Robb gets back, he goes into their walk-in closet to change into his own sleep clothes, and he joins Theon once he’s finished.

They’re facing each other, just like they always do when they lay down for the night, but Theon has his eyes closed, pretending that he is indeed as tired as he says he is. 

He can feel Robb’s gaze boring into him. He knows Robb wants to kiss him. They’ve always preferred actions over words when it comes to comfort, but he just _can’t_.

Theon wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly. Especially since he hasn’t kissed Robb since he got back from his father’s house. He can’t though. He _can’t_.

The hug they shared in their living room was enough to let the words, the words he had actually managed to quiet for a few hours, come flying out of their iron cage.

_You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up. You’ll find a way to fuck it up_.

\----------

There’s a distance between them that’s been growing and growing since his father’s funeral more than a week ago, and it’s all his doing. He just can’t be around Robb when a simple touch from him sends him reeling, and those harsh words pulse in his head like an overbearing techno beat. It’s exhausting having to hear them all the time, and they _demand_ to be listened to.

Robb notices, because he notices everything—especially if it pertains to Theon. He’s always told Robb he was too observant for his own good, because one day he was going to see something he wished he hadn’t.

They still sleep in the same bed, because Theon really didn’t want to deal with the avalanche of questions that would surely come if he suggested separate sleeping arrangements, but as soon as he gets in bed, he turns his back to Robb, pretending not to feel Robb’s gaze penetrating into him.

He knows Robb always allows Theon the space that he needs when he has things to work through, but he can feel the “straw that broke the camel’s back” moment coming soon. Robb only has so much patience, and he knows he’s testing it to its limits.

That’s why he’s not the least bit surprised when Robb finally snaps.

Theon’s finishing up brushing his teeth, preparing himself for another night of awkward bed sharing, when Robb strolls in, dressed in plaid pajama pants and his favorite—and Theon’s favorite—soft, grey t-shirt.

He avoids Robb’s eyes in the mirror, occupying himself with more than thorough mouth-rinsing, and he can feel Robb’s body heat getting closer with each cautious step he takes.

There’s only so much he can stall, so he straightens up, grabbing the towel on the rack next to the sink to wipe his mouth, and Robb winds his arms around Theon’s waist before settling his chin on his shoulder.

He still refuses to meet Robb’s eyes in their shared reflection.

Robb splays his hands, with his long, long fingers, along Theon’s abdomen, and he pushes them together until there’s not an inch separating them. He places a barely there kiss on the side of Theon’s neck, leaving Theon to shut his eyes in frustration or exhaustion, he really doesn’t know which anymore, and tense up.

His reaction doesn’t seem to deter Robb though. One second he’s thinking about the best way to escape Robb’s grasp without making things even _more_ uncomfortable between them, and the next he’s being spun around, so that his waist is lined up with the hard edge of the counter, and Robb’s hands are planted on either side of his hips.

Robb gets in close again, leaning his head forward and shutting his eyes. Theon turns his head, like he’s gotten in the habit of doing, and Robb’s lips hit air. He doesn’t slightly turn his head anymore, he straight up swerves out of the way. Robb huffs in frustration, and Theon just wants to get the fuck out of the bathroom. 

He tries to shove Robb’s arm out of the way, so he can exit this human box he’s got him entrapped in, but Robb holds steadfast onto the marble countertop. Robb grabs his chin between his fingers, forcing Theon to look at him, and it’s not rough at all, but Theon’s scared all the same. He’s not afraid of Robb. He never will be. He’s afraid of what he’s gonna say.

“I can’t kiss you anymore or what?” Robb asks, annoyance clearly evident in his tone, but Theon can detect the undertones of sadness as well.

“Robb-,” Theon begins to say, but then he stops himself, because he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to tell Robb what the real reason is. He doesn’t think he would even understand.

“Did I do something wrong?” Robb’s clearly upset, but Theon knows it’s not at him. He’s upset about this situation he’s found himself in because he has no idea how they got here. 

“No,” Theon responds in a short, clipped tone, because he just needs this conversation to be over. He needs this whole night to be over.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing!” Robb exclaims, taking a deep breath to attempt to get himself under control. “Every time I try to kiss you, every _single_ time, you move away from me. There’s something bigger happening here, but I can only help you if you tell me what it is.”

Robb’s looking up at him with his big blue eyes, and they’re pleading with him for answers, but he can’t give them. He _can’t_.

“Just let it go,” Theon whispers, attempting to duck his head, but not being able to due to the physical grasp Robb still has on him.

“Theon! Just tell-”

“Let it go!” Theon shouts back, using his sudden outburst to wrench himself free from Robb’s hold.

He marches out of the brightly-lit bathroom into their barely-illuminated bedroom, snatching his pillows from his side of the bed. He walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him, symbolically letting Robb know that he’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Robb doesn’t follow him, and this is the first time he’s felt relief about that fact.

The next morning, he pretends to still be asleep when he hears Robb’s shoes squeaking against the floor on his way out. Theon calls in sick to work, and he hopes with everything he has that Jeyne won’t fucking fire him. He’s been missing a lot of days lately.

He doesn’t see how he can go in though. Not when he feels like this. Not when his head is pounding, because he knows he has a decision to make. He can’t keep treating Robb like this. It’s not fair to him. And Theon sure as hell doesn’t enjoy doing it.

What he’s thinking of doing is going to hurt them both. It’s going to break both of their hearts into a million jagged pieces, but he doesn’t see any other way. 

He needs to leave _now_ , before he has the opportunity to hurt Robb in an even bigger way. Before he hurts him in a way he can’t move on from.

Theon will be helping him in the long run, even though Robb won’t see it that way right now. But, time heals all wounds. Robb just needs to allow himself to do so.

Robb deserves better than Theon. He always has. 

He remembers being younger, how people would look down their noses at them when they would play together at recess or share a seat on the bus on their way home from school. They were all thinking the same thing. How can a sweet, caring boy like Robb, who had his whole bright future ahead of him, be friends with the offspring of the human trash that is Balon Greyjoy?

Theon always tried to ignore it, and Robb would tell him not to pay attention to the snide comments some people would make about him, because they didn’t know what they were talking about. They didn’t know the truth.

Years later, Theon thinks that maybe they did. Maybe they saw what Theon wouldn’t allow himself to see until recently. 

He’s buried the doubt and insecurity he’s always had about his and Robb’s relationship so deep down, that they have nothing to do but spill over and infect every part of him now that they’ve been brought to the surface.

Theon gathers himself up off the couch before he has a chance to second guess himself. He’s doing this for Robb. He is. He is. He _is_.

It’s about time he let him go.

He starts collecting his stuff together, and he forces himself to retreat into autopilot mode. Every item he’s packing away has a memory accompanying it that inevitably leads back to Robb, and he’ll never finish what he needs to get done if he lets himself slip into nostalgia.

It takes him a few hours to bundle his life away, and he deliberately doesn’t touch the pictures littering their flat of he and Robb together. He debates about whether or not he should just destroy all of them, so that Robb doesn’t have to look at them, but he ultimately decides against it. He thinks he should leave the decision up to Robb.

Once he’s completed his task, the cowardly part of him tells him to get the fuck out of dodge while Robb is still at work, but he doesn’t listen to it. He owes Robb more than that. Robb shouldn’t have to come home to a half-empty flat without an explanation as to why.

The clock seems to tick extra loudly the closer it gets to 4:30, and Theon starts bouncing his right leg incessantly while twining his sweaty hands together.

It’s 4:26 when he hears Robb’s key enter the lock on their front door, and it’s 4:26 with 42 seconds when Robb’s eyes widen at the sight of Theon’s suitcases and cardboard boxes stacked neatly in the corner.

“What’s going on?” Robb gasps, absentmindedly depositing his keys on the entryway table and shutting the door in a daze.

Theon closes his eyes for a brief second, taking in a few shaky breaths to calm his nerves, and he stands on legs that feel far too heavy.

“Robb-”

“What’s going on?” Robb says again, dragging his fingers through his curly, ginger locks, mussing up the perfect tresses. Everything about Robb is so endearingly _perfect_.

“I-”

“Why is all your stuff packed up?” Robb interrupts, not allowing Theon to get a word in edgewise, because he doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. If it doesn’t get said, then it’s not real.

“I’m leaving,” Theon replies smoothly, even though his heart is threatening to beat right out of his chest.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Robb asks, confusion swimming through his eyes as he scrunches his eyebrows together. “Theon? Are you-, are you breaking up with me?”

Theon nods, because he really doesn’t want to say the words ‘I’m breaking up with you,’ and Robb’s chest starts to heave in and out erratically as though he’s about to burst.

“Why?” Robb questions, and his voice is absolutely miserable. And going by the look on his crumpled face, he is.

“Robb,” Theon starts, trying to sound as placating as possible. “Robb,” he begins once more, and he has to pause to take a deep breath. “You deserve better than me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Robb yells, looking at Theon like he’s simultaneously ripping his organs out with his bare hands and betraying him in the worst possible way.

“Exactly what I said,” he answers, and he can tell Robb is getting frustrated at the fact that Theon is seemingly unaffected. “You deserve someone who isn’t going to fuck this up the first chance they get.”

“We’ve been together for more than three years,” Robb snaps, taking large strides towards him, and Theon steps back, “and you haven’t done anything to fuck it up. It hardly qualifies as ‘fucking up the first chance you get,’ don’t you think?”

Theon stays silent, and he can see something like realization, or perhaps the better word would be epiphany, settle into Robb’s stormy eyes.

“Did something happen when you went to go visit your father? Did he say something to you?”

Always too damn perceptive for his own damn good.

“No,” Theon says, trying to sound as aloof as he can, but he can tell Robb isn’t buying it.

“He must have,” Robb reasons, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s prone to do when he’s nervous or anxious. “Things have been off since you went to go see him. What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Theon-”

“He really didn’t, okay?” Theon answers, lying through his damn teeth, because he doesn’t want to tell Robb about the conversation that became so much more.

“Then where is all this coming from?” Robb begs, and Theon can see how hard his brain is spinning to try and come up with an explanation that makes sense, but it’s turning up empty.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

“What does that-”

Theon doesn’t let him finish. He turns on his heel, fully intent on rushing towards the front door to retrieve his plain, green duffel bag, because he needs to get out of here before he starts spewing things that he’s going to regret, but Robb isn’t letting him go so easy.

He flattens his back against the door, blocking Theon’s only exit that won’t result in a broken neck, and takes Theon’s trembling hands into his own.

“You promised me,” Robb reminds, intertwining their fingers together. 

The promise Robb is referring to goes farther back than their romantic relationship with each other. 

It was a promise they made when they were both fourteen, and Theon had climbed through Robb’s window sporting another black eye and a vertical cut on his bottom lip. He never wanted to face any of the other Stark family members when he looked like that. He knew Ned and Catelyn would insist on getting the police involved, considering Ned was an officer himself, and Theon would have rather dealt with his family’s abuse than ending up in the foster system.

Robb had ushered him onto his bed like he always did, and went straight towards his bathroom, rummaging around in the bottom cupboards to get the first-aid kit. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Robb was so well-versed in what to do when Theon showed up with scrapes and bruises, but he never complained.

He had cleaned Theon up with gentle hands and soothing words, and once he was done, and Theon was ornamented with glistening antibacterial ointment and fluffy gauze, Robb had laid them down side by side, and grabbed Theon’s hand, tucking their conjoined palms into his chest.

In the darkness, they had made each other a promise. For as long as they lived, they had promised to always be there for each other, to take care of each other, and most importantly, to never leave each other. They both believed they were brought into this world to be a team, and they would remain by the other’s side.

Theon did promise. He remembers. But, he’s going to have to break it—for Robb’s sake.

This is all for Robb.

“I know,” Theon whispers, swallowing against his suddenly dry mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Theon, please,” Robb croaks out, and Theon knows that if he looked up from the ground and actually looked at Robb’s face, he would see tears streaming down his cheeks. That’s precisely why he’s not looking up.

Because he can deal with Robb’s anger. He can deal with that just fine, because that’s what he was expecting, but he can’t deal with Robb’s sadness. He can’t deal with the fact that Robb is crying because of him.

“Please, don’t do this,” Robb pleads, tightening the hold he has on Theon’s hands, and trying to pull him closer. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Theon feels his own chest hitch and his bottom lip begin to quiver, and that’s his cue to leave. But, he needs to do one thing first. He needs to make sure Robb knows. 

If he’s going to submit himself into a life where he’s never going to see Robb again, then he needs to at least make sure that he _knows_.

He slips his hands out of Robb’s grasp, and moves them upward to cradle his face. He doesn’t shy away from looking at Robb this time. He gazes straight into those too blue eyes that he’ll never forget the shade of. 

Theon runs his thumbs across the sharp line of Robb’s jaw, feeling the stubble graze below them. He’s trying to commit every detail to memory. Every single wrinkle, freckle, and laugh line.

Robb’s looking at him as fresh tears trail from the corners of his eyes, wordlessly begging him to reconsider—to truly think about what he’s doing.

He hates that he’s hurting him. He absolutely fucking _despises_ it, but it’ll be alright in the end. He has to believe that.

“I love you,” Theon whispers, “and I always will.” 

Robb begins to sob harder. He’s gripping onto Theon so tightly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Robb’s fingernails are about to pierce through the fabric of his worn t-shirt at any moment.

He moves his hands to the back of Robb’s neck, and then he leans forward, instead of away, to place a kiss on Robb’s damp cheek. He pours everything he’s feeling into the gesture, until he’s breathing heavily against Robb’s skin and their bodies are melded together.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he says against Robb’s cheek, lips dragging across rough stubble with each word.

Theon lets his hands drag along Robb’s neck and down his chest, until they’re hanging limply by his side. He picks up his duffel bag from the floor and reaches for the doorknob.

Robb’s staring at him with more despair in his eyes than Theon’s ever seen, and he moves away from the door like it’s physically paining him to do so.

“Bye,” Theon chokes out, and he leaves before he can hear Robb’s answer.

\----------

Asha’s flat isn’t as nice as the one he used to share with Robb. It smells more like salt and cigarettes than fresh coffee and the cologne Robb used to douse himself with every morning. But, when he showed up at her doorstep with his head hung low and his hand loosely grasping onto his ratty duffle bag, she let him in without any questions, and all she said to him was that he could stay as long as he liked as long as he stayed out of her personal shit, so he’s not going to complain. She even went with him to go pick up the rest of his stuff from his old flat when Robb was at work.

He fully expected for her to laugh in his face once she took in the pathetic state he was in, but it’s not like he had many options. His friend group is limited, if nonexistent, and his family, well, everyone aside from Asha is useless.

The aftermath from his breakup with Robb is just as horrible and difficult as he expected it would be. 

He’s getting through his workdays on autopilot, and he can see the concerned looks Jeyne sends him from time to time, but he’s still getting his work done, despite the zombie-mode he’s slipped into, so she doesn’t comment on it. He’s grateful for that.

Theon can’t imagine that Robb is doing much better.

For the first two weeks following Theon’s departure, Robb had constantly texted and called him, and he ignored every single one. It took every last ounce of willpower he possessed to do so, but he knew he needed to do it.

Robb would never be able to move on if Theon kept the lines of communication between them open, and truthfully, neither would he. 

He knows how tough this is on both of them, and, _my god_ , it’s absolutely excruciating on some days, but right now, taking friendship off the table completely is the best option for them, and that’s what’s making it so challenging, because they’ve been in each other’s lives in some capacity for as long as he can remember, and that’s all changed from one day to the next.

Theon’s glad that Robb at least has his family and friends, who were always more Robb’s than Theon’s, to rely on and to help him through this. Because as much as Theon’s hurting, he at least has those words still ringing in his head, that have morphed into some sort of fucked-up crutch of support, as solace that he’s doing the right thing, and that it’s for the best, while Robb was completely blindsided by the whole thing, and he doesn’t have any real reason for it. Theon’s explanation for why he was ending things was faulty at best, and he knows he left Robb more confused than anything.

It’s been a month since their breakup, and the ache in his chest still hasn’t dulled. He’s waiting for that whole “time heals all wounds” bullshit to kick in, but maybe something of this magnitude needs more than a month, or maybe he’s going to have to learn to live with the constant pang inside him anytime he thinks about Robb, remembers a fond memory, or sees something that reminds him of Robb. Or maybe he’s just fucked.

Either way, he knows this is for the best, even though neither of them can see it right now. He knows it is. It is. It is. _It_ is. It _is_.

\----------

This is his life now, he thinks. It’s been three months, and this is his life now. He swirls the rest of what’s left of his gin and tonic before downing it in one go. He grits his teeth against the burn in his throat, but it’s out of habit more than anything. He stopped feeling it after the sixth one.

He thinks he should probably stop now. The buzz has definitely settled in, and it feels like there’s millions of lightning bugs dancing underneath his skin, but the haze of all out drunkenness is looming on the horizon, and he doesn’t let himself get like that anymore. Not when he’s alone anyway.

Theon had a particularly horrible experience his senior year in high school, which could have ended in utter disaster and mountains of psychiatric bills, if it wasn’t for the good heart of a kind Samaritan.

It had been close to graduation, and Theon went out to his local pub to let off some steam from all the pressure that inevitably brings. It wasn’t the most upstanding of places, but no one in there actually gave a shit about the fact that he was still seventeen, so he ignored the seediness. 

In hindsight, maybe he should have, because he chugged drink after drink, and ended up getting cozy with a guy who he wouldn’t have glanced twice at in a sober state. 

It was just his luck that the guy ended up being a sadistic sociopath, who had slipped something into Theon’s drink when he wasn’t looking. The bastard had headed to the bathroom right before they were about to leave, and a burly guy with scars covering half his face pulled him aside, basically telling him to get the fuck out of there. 

He nearly retched all over himself when he saw the dude’s mugshot splashed across the TV screen, with the nightly news anchor reading off the list of charges in a matter-of-fact tone.

So, yeah, needless to say, never again.

Theon looks out at the herd of writhing bodies on the dancefloor, twentysomethings and teenagers with fake ids mingling and dry-humping to the thunderous techno beat underneath the swirling disco lights.

This is what he has to look forward to.

Well, at least for now, because he doesn’t know if he can still be doing this when he’s forty and washed-up. How creepy and desperate would that make him?

After Robb, there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to enter into a committed relationship ever again, or rather, a relationship at all. Nobody should have to put up with all his baggage, and he meant what he said. He’s always going to love Robb. That’s never gonna change. So, what would be the point in trying to find someone else? The only hope he would have would be to find someone he could care for even half as much as he cares for Robb.

Even so, he has physical needs that can only be satisfied so much with his own hand, and that’s why he’s here. He just needs to take care of the ache in his gut with a sane and willing person, and then he can go back to wallowing in his self-created misery.

He scans his eyes across the dancefloor one more time, until he catches the gaze of a guy who licks his lips when he catches Theon staring. He arches up his eyebrow, in what Theon supposes is supposed to be a challenge, and he starts gliding towards Theon with a swing in his hips.

Theon places the empty glass on the bar top, wiping the condensation from the ice on his jeans, and he gets up off the stool, swaying the slightest bit when he stands on his feet.

“Hey there,” the guy starts when he approaches Theon, raking his gaze over Theon’s lithe form with a cocky smirk on his face.

He doesn’t have time for small talk, nor does he want it, so Theon grabs the guy by his wrist and hauls him into the dingy restroom. There’s only one other guy in here, who’s fixing his hair in the murky bathroom mirror, but he hurries along when he realizes what’s about to happen.

“Impatient are we?” the guy laughs, and Theon shuts him up with a harsh kiss. He’s really hoping the dude stops talking from now on, because he really doesn’t want to hear it.

Theon manhandles him into a stall that’s probably seen better days, shutting the door behind them. He presses the guy up against it, and he starts kissing him again while his thin fingers trail downward, popping the dude’s jeans button open and yanking the zipper down.

He slips his hand inside, not bothering to shove the pants down, and starts stroking the guy with short, rough movements. The guy throws his head back in a long, drawn-out moan, and Theon bites at the tendon in his neck. He continues his ministrations, and he yanks the dude’s head down with his free hand so he can start kissing him again. Seriously, all the moaning and groaning is a bit over the top, and Theon has no idea why this guy is trying so hard. Or maybe he’s just like this all the time.

Theon moves his hand out when the guy starts trembling, because this dude is not gonna come before Theon has the chance to. Theon shoves him down onto his knees, and he luckily gets the hint. He undoes the button fly on Theon’s jeans, stripping down his boxers with absolutely zero finesse, and proceeds in giving him a perfectly adequate blowjob. 

He keeps his hands balled up into fists at his sides, and he looks down as the guy bobs his head every which way. Theon almost wants to laugh when he gets a good look at him. Because yeah, maybe the guy had looked at him first, but Theon’s eyes would have kept moving if he had looked any different than he does.

The guy’s hair is on the lighter side of blonde, and it’s shaggy and straight. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and he has no muscle definition of which to speak of. 

He’s the complete opposite of Robb. 

Robb, with his curly, auburn hair, that looks brown when it’s wet. Robb, with his big, sapphire eyes. Robb, with his toned arms, broad shoulders, and freckled back. 

No, he’ll never fuck anyone that has any of those features, and maybe he’s narrowing down his selection, but he doesn’t give a shit.

Theon pulls the guy up from the floor, because at the rate they’re going he won’t be coming any time soon, so Theon grabs both of their cocks in his hand, and starts stroking them in the way that’ll make him blow his load the quickest.

The guy ends up coming before Theon does after all, and Theon spends a few minutes later with his head tilted back and the guy’s lips on his throat. 

They lean on opposite sides of the stall as they wait for their breathing to settle down. Theon swipes his hair off his forehead, and the guy surges forward to kiss him. Theon pushes him away before he can, but the guy doesn’t look like he gives a fuck about the evident brush off. He just rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shrugs his bony shoulders, and leaves Theon in the piss-scented restroom with his pants around his ankles.

He wipes himself off, straightens out his clothes, and heads back out into the overcrowded club. He drops a few twenties on the bar, signaling his payment to the bartender, and he walks out into the cool night air. It’s a welcome reprieve from the scent of cheap cigarettes and sweat.

Theon walks back to Asha’s apartment with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he realizes that he’s completely and utterly fucked.

He’s fucked because he’s spent the last three years with Robb, and he knows, he fucking _knows_ , what it’s like to have sex with someone when there’s real affection, real _love_ , there. He knows what it’s like to have real intimacy, not just the illusion of it, and he knows how good, how _mind-blowing_ , how absolutely _satisfying_ , it was between them, every. single. time.

And perhaps the Theon that pre-dated his relationship with Robb would have been perfectly content to get by on meaningless bathroom romps and casual sex, but this Theon, the Theon that knows what it’s like to love and be loved in return, won’t be. 

He knows that now, it’s been made abundantly clear, and he hates it.

\----------

Theon thought that living at Asha’s would mean that he was at a far enough distance to prevent him from ever running into anyone with the last name Stark or Snow. Looks like he was wrong, like he usually is.

“Greyjoy,” a familiar voice says behind him, and he almost drops the record he was looking at on the brightly-speckled carpet. He does fumble it a bit though.

He turns around slowly, bracing for a punch, or a scowl, or worse—a disappointed face. He’s greeted with neither. All he sees is confusion.

“Snow,” Theon nods cordially, and he swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I was visiting one of my friends from the academy, and I decided to stop in here to see if there was anything new.”

“You come here a lot?”

“Yup,” Jon answers quickly, and shit, Theon wishes he had known that before he strolled in here on a whim.

“So…” Jon says, dragging out the word and kicking his foot out against the rug. 

Theon hates this awkwardness. He’s never been close with Jon, but things have never been uncomfortable between them like they are now. A part of him wants to spin on his heel and run out the nearest exit, but that’ll probably make things even more _awkward_ , so he decides to engage in a bit of small talk.

“You said you were visiting a friend from the _academy_?”

“Oh yeah,” Jon replies, and his face lights up a bit at that. “I joined the police academy last month.”

Huh. Looks like he’s following in his father’s footsteps. He wouldn’t have expected it in all honesty, but Theon’s happy for him. 

Jon had gone to community college right after high school like everybody did if they didn’t get into uni, but he dropped out after a couple of years. Robb had told him that Jon hated it. He was only attending because he thought that’s what he was _supposed_ to do, but he had no clue of what he wanted to do with his life. He spent the years after that hopping from one unsteady job to another, no closer to finding a path he wanted to tread, but now it seems like he has, and Theon’s glad, so he tells him as much.

“I’m really happy for you,” Theon says, and he’s surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “You know, because it seems like _you_ are.”

“I am,” Jon whispers with a shy grin, and Theon gives him a small smile in return.

“So…” Jon says again, and Theon snorts.

“You said that already.”

“Yeah,” Jon chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head, his dark, curly locks getting tangled in his fingers. “It’s just kind of hard to ignore the elephant in the room.”

And _that_ is precisely why he didn’t want to run into any of the Starks. This very conversation.

“I guess so,” Theon mumbles, suddenly finding the ugly carpet, that looks like it teleported here from the 60’s, very interesting. 

“He’s doing fine by the way,” Jon says, and there’s no malice or anger behind his tone, which Theon’s grateful for. “Well _fine_ , when you consider the state he was in before.”

“What do you mean?” Theon asks, and he inwardly and outwardly cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth, because he really didn’t mean to say that.

“Robb was completely devastated the entire first month after it happened,” Jon replies, and usually Theon can appreciate Jon’s bluntness, but right now isn’t one of those times. He did _ask_ though. 

“He almost lost his job because he was missing so many days of work,” Jon continues, and _fuck_. Theon knew that breaking up with him would be hard on Robb, but he didn’t want Robb to screw up his life over it. He wasn’t worth that. Nobody was.

“But he didn’t though, right?” Theon rushes out, because he knows how much Robb loves his job. It’s truly his passion, and Theon doesn’t want him to lose that.

“He didn’t,” Jon assures, and Theon breathes out a sigh in relief. “Dad and Catelyn talked some sense into him. Arya did too, you know, in her own unique way.” Theon lets out an involuntary laugh, because yeah, that sounds like Arya alright.

“So,” Theon proceeds cautiously, gnawing on his bottom lip. “When you say he’s fine now, you mean he’s…?”

“I mean he’s fine compared to the mess he was before,” Jon says without missing a beat, and Theon winces. “He’s not crying himself to sleep every night anymore, and he’s not getting blackout drunk every weekend. He’s not sitting on the bed in his old room staring at the wall for hours on end, and-”

“Wait,” Theon interrupts with a wave of his hand. “His old room?”

“Yeah. You know he’s not staying in the flat you guys had together, right?”

Theon shakes his head, because no, he didn’t know that. How was he supposed to?

“Yeah,” Jon says again, bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit. “He couldn’t stand to live there anymore after you left. He’s still paying the rent on it since the lease isn’t up, but he’s not staying there anymore.”

Theon really, _really_ wishes that Jon would stop talking, so, of course, he continues on.

“He’s still not sleeping all that well, but the dark circles under his eyes aren’t as pronounced, and he’s started eating full meals again, so his cheeks don’t look as hollow. The good and bad thing about school being out for the summer now, is that he doesn’t have to deal with that stress on top of everything else, but that also means that he can wear sweatpants all day and watch endless hours of TV. Rickon’s taking it pretty hard too.”

“Wait, what?” Theon asks, head snapping up because he’s thrown by the change in topic. “Rickon?”

“Well, yeah,” Jon responds like it should be obvious. “When you broke up with Robb, you kind of broke up with the whole family. You know how much Rickon worships the ground you walk on.”

To be honest, he had never really thought about it like that, but it’s true. He met Robb when he was five, he’s known the four youngest Starks since they were born for fuck’s sake, so it makes sense that it would affect them too.

“Yeah, everyone was pretty torn up about it. Even Arya if you can believe it.”

Theon lets out a quiet chuckle at that tidbit of information, because that is pretty surprising, and that prompts Jon to emit one too.

“Look, I’m not trying to berate you or anything,” Jon starts, back to his default setting of seriousness. “I’m sure you had your reasons. And Robb would more than likely kill me if he knew I even told you any of this, I just thought you should know.”

He nods, but he really doesn’t know why Jon thought he should know this stuff. He really didn’t need to know that Robb almost lost his job because of him, or that he’s turned into some version of an insomniac, or that Theon hurt him so much that he drove him out of his own home.

Theon’s thankful, probably for the billionth time, that Robb has a family that loves him, and who are there to support him. It sounds like he needs it.

“I should get going,” Jon says suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Theon mumbles, willing the knots in his stomach to go away.

Jon turns and heads out the exit with a small wave, the door closing slowly behind him.

\----------

His phone lights up again, and he reaches across his comforter to silence it for the fourth time in an hour.

The first call from Robb came in a little after 11 p.m., and Theon was honestly surprised to see his name flashing across the screen. Robb hadn’t attempted to call him since those first two weeks following their breakup.

He doesn’t think much of it at first once he gets over his initial shock. It must have been a fluke. Maybe Robb butt-dialed him, or he accidentally hit Theon’s name when he was scrolling through his contacts. 

But then the second call came, then the third, and Theon couldn’t remain so willfully ignorant. 

He started wracking his brain for reasons Robb could be calling him, and then it clicks. Jon probably told him that he had run into Theon, and now Robb wanted to talk to him for some reason. Well, Theon didn’t want to talk to him.

For all he knew, Robb could have drunken his weight in alcohol, and with his inhibitions lowered, thought it would make perfect sense to call Theon after all this time so he could yell at him for anything and everything, or maybe Robb’s calling him to sob over the phone about how belly-up his life has gone. Theon doesn’t want to hear any of it though. He can’t deal with it.

It’s 12:30 a.m. when his ringer goes off again, and Theon huffs in frustration. He silences his phone, waits for the call to end, and then he turns the damn thing off completely.

Stupid Jon and his stupid mouth. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Theon lets out a humorless laugh when he thinks about what Jon said. “Robb would more than likely kill me if he knew I even told you any of this.” Well, it didn’t stop him from blabbing, now did it?

He fucks around on his iPad for another half an hour or so, and then he switches off the bedside lamp. He burrows under the covers, and he hopes he has a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes up, the alarm clock shaped like a frog says that it’s 10:05 a.m. He’s not even sure why Asha has this thing, in what used to be her guest bedroom, but is now Theon’s room. He should probably ask her one of these days.

He stretches his arms above his head until he hears his lower back crack, and then he shakes out his limbs while he swings into a sitting position. He gets up to go about his morning routine on the weekend, which consists of taking a piss, washing his face, pouring himself an enormous bowl of Cookie Crisp, and settling down on the couch to watch the next documentary in his Netflix queue.

It’s not until he has said enormous bowl in his hands and he’s flicking on the TV, that he remembers he had shut his phone off last night. When it comes to life, his notifications start going off like crazy. 

He has some emails in his inbox that he won’t read until Monday because these are his days off dammit, and more than a dozen missed calls and text messages from Robb. 

Theon starts skimming through the text messages, and the more he reads, the more his stomach feels like it’s sinking down into his feet. 

“ _I really need to talk to you._ ”

“ _Please, I really need to talk to you._ ”

“ _Theon, please pick up your phone. Please._ ”

“ _Theon, it’s an emergency. Please answer your phone._ ”

“ _Theon. Please._ ”

He holds down the number two on his keypad, because he hasn’t gotten around to removing Robb from the top of his favorites list, and then he brings the phone up to his ear with a shaking hand. He finds himself breathing heavily as he listens to the dial tone with its shrill ring.

“Theon,” Robb breathes as soon as he answers, voice cracking on the last syllable of his name.

“Robb,” Theon whispers, and he sort of wants to cry, both at hearing Robb’s voice and because this is the first time he’s said Robb’s name in almost four months. He’s thought it plenty of times, but he’s had no reason to say it.

“Theon,” Robb repeats, except he chokes on the word this time, so it comes out sounding garbled.

“What’s wrong?” Theon asks, willing his hands to stop fucking shaking, but they’re rebelling against his mind’s commands. 

“I-, I-.” Robb can barely form a coherent sentence, and Theon can picture clearly how Robb must look right now, with his chest hitching, puffing up and down with the force of his uncontained sobs.

“Are you hurt?” Theon questions, because Robb is scaring the hell out of him. 

A hundred horrible scenarios start flashing through his mind like a cruel film reel, with images of Robb lying face down in a ditch somewhere, or bloodied up in some nondescript alleyway full of garbage. But, then again, if Robb really was injured why would he waste time calling Theon instead of actual help? And why would he continue to call him when it was obvious he wasn’t going to answer?

“No,” Robb mumbles, most likely swiping the palm of his hand roughly across his mouth. “I-, It’s-, Theon,” Robb stutters, and the more he stumbles over his words, the more anxious Theon gets.

“Robb, tell me.”

“My dad’s dead,” Robb says, and Theon feels his heart stop. 

There’s no way in hell that he heard what he thinks he heard. It’s not possible.

“What did you say?”

“My dad’s dead,” Robb repeats, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Well, he would, wouldn’t he?

“How? I-, what?”

“It was a routine traffic stop,” Robb spits out, and now he sounds angry. As he should be, Theon thinks.

Of all the dangerous things Ned has gone up against during his career as a cop, a traffic stop is what does him in? It’s ridiculous. It’s _senseless_.

“The guy was out on parole, and when my dad stopped him, I guess he freaked out and shot him. The stupid bastard didn’t want to violate the terms of his parole, but now he’s back in jail anyway. He didn’t make it even three miles before they caught up with him.”

Well, that’s something. At least the Starks don’t have to suffer with the knowledge that the guy was still out there somewhere, and that he could possibly get away with it if he was never found. Theon hopes the guy suffers for the rest of his days.

“I’m-, fuck, Robb, I’m so sorry.”

The words seem inadequate, but in times like these, is there ever really anything to say? But, he does feel like an absolute asshole for ignoring Robb’s calls. Robb was probably grieving in silence, trying to be the rock of the family, like he’s always expected himself to be, and all the while, Theon was sleeping soundly.

He’s such a prick.

“Do you think you can come over? I just-”

“I’ll be there,” Theon answers resolutely, because regardless of their current situation, he’s not going to let Robb deal with this alone. 

“Thank you,” Robb whispers, and then he hangs up the phone with a final click.

Theon should probably start moving right about now, but he can’t. It’s like he’s rooted to his spot. His mind is spinning and reeling.

Ned Stark is dead. There’s no way. 

Theon always thought the man was invincible, with his towering stature, strong hands, and passionate words. He can’t be gone from this world. He just _can’t_ be.

He wonders if this is the way he was supposed to feel when he heard about his own father’s passing. It probably is, but he and Theon shared nothing aside from a few strands of DNA. 

This time though, well, this time he _is_ mourning for his father, and he feels the tears dangle off his chin before he even realizes he’s crying. 

He cries and cries until he physically can’t anymore, and then he gets a hold of himself. He needs to be strong for Robb now. Robb needs him.

Theon dries his eyes, desperately hoping that the redness will have faded by the time he reaches the Stark house, and he heads towards the laundry room. He grabs a pair of dark wash jeans and a white Henley from the dryer, and he gets himself ready as quickly as possible. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s flying out the door and down to his car, preparing himself to make the long drive. He turns the music up to obnoxious levels in a vain attempt to drown out the thoughts in his head. 

When he arrives, he parks behind a red Prius that he thinks belongs to Jon’s girlfriend, Ygritte. His eyes scan across the area around him, and yeah, this looks about right. The driveway and street surrounding the Stark property is littered with cars. This is what happens when someone dies if they weren’t a worthless sack of shit like Balon was.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel nervous entering into the home of the people he considered his family, but who he steadfastly ignored once he broke-up with the person who served as their common link. He needs to get over himself though. This isn’t about him. This is about Ned—and Robb.

There are people everywhere, and he cranes his neck trying to locate a familiar face. The first person he sees is Catelyn, and her eyes widen the slightest bit when she catches sight of him. His pulse starts to race, wondering if she’s going to come up to him and tell him to leave since he broke her eldest son’s heart, but of course that doesn’t happen.

“Oh, dear,” she says in a weary voice, placing a cool hand against his cheek. There’s a tremble in her fingers that’s never been there before, and it contradicts everything Theon has always known about her.

Mrs. Stark is the epitome of a steady presence. She’s the strongest woman, fuck it, strongest _person_ he knows, but of course she wouldn’t be okay right now. He can see the effort she’s exerting in holding herself together.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and he feels like he’s going to be saying that a lot today.

“I’m sorry too,” she answers, allowing the tiniest smile to bloom across her features. “I know how much you loved him.”

Theon nods, because he’s pretty sure he’ll choke out a sob if he tries to open his mouth. She seems to understand though. Catelyn gives him a swift kiss on the temple, and leaves him to presumably resume his search for the rest of the members of the Stark clan.

He wanders into the kitchen, and that’s where he finds Arya sitting on Jon’s lap, with Bran slouched in a corner right beside them. He steels himself again, and forces himself to continue walking towards them. 

Bran notices him first, and the only sign he gives of his surprise is the miniscule o-shape of his mouth. Arya flicks her head up next, followed by Jon, and now he has three pairs of brown eyes staring at him. 

“Hey guys,” he says lamely, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m really sorry.” 

Arya’s eyes harden as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and he thinks, this is it. She’s gonna yell at him, tell him to get the fuck out of their house, and punch him in the stomach while demanding that he never show his face here again. He’ll admit that he’s scared of her. She’s a spitfire, and always has been.

She hobbles off of Jon’s lap, crosses the short distance separating them in a few sure strides, and Theon braces himself for what he expects to come. What he doesn’t expect is for Arya to wind her arms around his waist and rest her head in the middle of his sternum.

He’s too dumbfounded to react at first, staring up at Jon like a gaping fish. Jon nods his head at Arya, wordlessly telling Theon to return the hug, and he does once he snaps out of his stupor. He wraps his arms around her scrawny shoulders, and she squeezes him for the briefest of seconds before letting go.

She walks away from him like nothing out of the ordinary just happened, and he would laugh if the timing was appropriate. Arya has never been cruel to him, but he never formed the attachment to her that he had with some of the other Stark children. She communicated with Theon through snide remarks and good-natured punches to the shoulder.

Jon gets up from his seat, and he and Theon share the typical “guy hug”, because anything else might be verging into too awkward for them, even now. He thinks he should go over and give Bran a hug as well, but the kid’s shoulders are hunched over, and he has his hands tightly secured behind his back. Theon recognizes closed-off body language when he sees it, after years of perpetuating it himself. So, he settles for giving Bran a squeeze on the shoulder.

He’s about to try his hand at some small talk, when Rickon stumbles in, puffy eyes and all. He runs to Theon as soon as he sees him, launching himself into his arms. 

“I missed you!” Rickon wails, and Theon feels like an absolute asshole again. 

He drops down to his knees so he can be closer to the boy’s height. Rickon might be eleven-years-old already, but he’s still on the short side. He might have gotten the Tully height as opposed to the Stark one. As soon as he’s settled, Rickon hugs him again, wrapping his arms tightly around Theon’s neck.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Theon says against the boy’s temple, rubbing Rickon’s back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. “I’m sorry.”

He can feel people staring at them, including those three pairs of brown eyes, but he does his best to block it out. Rickon’s tears dampen the collar of his shirt, and he continues to rub the boy’s back until he calms.

“Where have you been?”

“Rickon,” Arya snaps, narrowing her gaze at him, essentially telling him that he should know why Theon hasn’t been around.

“Right,” Rickon says defeated, as he lets his arms fall from Theon’s shoulders and down to his sides. “I forgot.”

“It doesn’t matter though, okay?” Theon says quickly, grabbing both of Rickon’s hands in his. “If you need anything, anything at all, you can always call me, and I’ll answer.”

“You promise?” Rickon asks in a tiny voice, barely concealed hope in his stare.

“I promise.”

“Good,” Rickon answers, giving him a muted version of the toothy grin he didn’t realize he missed so much until now.

He gets up off the floor, and he smacks into someone the moment he turns around. 

“Theon,” the person says, and he wastes no time in gathering her up in his arms. 

He strokes the back of Sansa’s head with a gentle hand, tangling his fingers in the red hair that is lighter than her brother’s and her mother’s. He remains sturdy as she sniffles into his shoulder.

“I’m so glad you came,” she whispers as she pulls back, but Theon keeps his hands secured on her elbows.

“Of course,” he responds, running his thumbs across her smooth skin. “I’m so sorry, doll,” he finishes, invoking the nickname he’s had for her since she was born. 

He remembers being six-years-old, looking down at Sansa in her crisp, white bassinet, with a mobile full of unicorns swirling overhead, and thinking that she looked like a porcelain doll. Ever since then, he’s called her doll, and he uses it when he’s trying to get her to smile, like now.

It works, even if it’s not the dazzling one she’s known for.

“He’s up in his room,” she says, flicking her eyes towards the ceiling before refocusing on him. “He didn’t want to come down. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone—except you.”

She gives him a knowing look, and then gives him one last embrace, before going to help her aunt put away the insane amounts of food. 

Well, he can’t put it off any longer. And ultimately, _Robb_ is who he came here for. 

He walks up the familiar staircase, letting his gaze trail across the various pictures of the Stark kids growing up. He feels a smile curling on his lips when he spots the image of Robb dressed up as a troll doll for Halloween when they were seven, complete with a missing tooth.

Theon clenches and unclenches his fist a few times before raising it to knock on the door with a picture of a stormtrooper on it. He doesn’t get a response, and then he remembers what Sansa had said.

“Robb,” he says, clearing his throat in the process. “It’s me.”

The door flies open two seconds later, and Theon is being yanked into the room, while Robb absentmindedly closes the door behind him.

“Thank god,” Robb sobs, bringing their bodies flush together, as he buries his face in Theon’s neck and tangles his fingers in Theon’s hair. He’s let it grow slightly longer, so there’s a bit more to hang onto than there was the last time they did this.

“Shh,” Theon soothes, rubbing his hand across the back of Robb’s neck, and softly rocking them from side to side. “Shh, sweetheart.”

Theon almost mentally curses himself for letting the term of endearment slip through his lips, but it sprang forth on instinct. And right now, with Robb crying against him in a way that Theon hasn’t seen him do since they were both fifteen and worrying that Ned might get transferred to another city, he doesn’t give a fuck.

If Robb needs for Theon to hold him, then that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

He continues to hang onto Robb until his sobs begin to taper off, shushing him the whole while with his mouth pressed right up against the shell of his ear.

“Sorry,” Robb mutters once they disentangle themselves, sliding his thumb against the wet spots on Theon’s neck. Theon uses all his strength to suppress the shiver that action always brings. “I didn’t mean-”

“Robb, stop,” Theon interrupts, grasping Robb’s wrist and leading him towards the bed they both used to share when they were growing up. “Don’t apologize, alright? This is what I’m here for.”

Robb nods at him, fingers going to fidget with a loose thread on the blanket underneath them.

“This is a dumb question, I know, but, how are you doing?”

“Horribly,” Robb answers honestly, and Theon wishes he could turn back time, so he would answer when Robb called him the first time. Well, if he’s wishing to turn back time, then he would go back to make sure Ned Stark was still alive.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls last night. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, Theon, don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Theon argues, not wanting to hear Robb let him off the hook for this. “It’s not okay. I should have-”

“Theon,” Robb intervenes, grabbing Theon’s hands and twining their fingers together. “It’s okay. Really. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Theon shakes his head at him, but he lets it go. Now isn’t the time.

“Is there anything you need?” Theon asks, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Robb’s ear.

“Just stay here with me for a bit,” Robb whispers, sounding unsure, and Theon hates that he’s the one who put that doubt there.

“Okay.”

Robb arranges them until they’re both lying flat on their backs watching the ceiling fan revolve round and round with their hands clasped tightly together.

\----------

Theon heads back to the Starks two days later, showing up bright and early in the morning. The weather is deceptively nice, considering what they’re all getting ready to do today.

Robb had asked him to come over before they headed to the cemetery. He said he had wanted to ride with him, and right now, Theon isn’t in the business of denying Robb what he wants.

The scene that greets him when he walks through the front door is the one he expected to see. Catelyn is standing in the living room already dressed in a sleek, black dress without a single wrinkle. She’s trying, keyword _trying_ , to brush Rickon’s mop of hair, while he pouts at her ministrations. Arya’s raiding the fridge, even though they’ve all apparently already had breakfast since Sansa is washing the dishes. Bran and Jon are sitting at the kitchen table, where Jon is scrolling through his phone and Bran is staring off into space. Robb is nowhere to be found.

Theon is the only one Robb has been talking to since everything happened. He hasn’t completely shut his family out, but he’s been short with them, only giving them one or two word answers whenever they ask him something. 

He told Robb yesterday, when they were both hanging out in his room not doing much of anything, that he should be with them right now. Or if he doesn’t want to be around that many people, then he should at least try talking with Jon. Other than Theon, Jon is the one person Robb can tell anything to. Robb just shook his head when Theon suggested it, so he reluctantly let it go.

Theon greets them all warmly, and he’s pretty sure this is the longest he and Arya have gone without trading sarcastic remarks. He grabs a water bottle from the overstocked fridge, as well as a cereal bar from the basket on the island. He’s almost positive that Robb hasn’t eaten today. He’s been the one having to force Robb to eat, practically shoving food into his mouth because Robb has completely given up on taking care of his most basic needs.

He jogs up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and knocks tentatively. He can hear Robb moving around in his room, but he’s not going to just barge in. That was what he did before, but things are different now. He’s had to remind himself of that these past few days. 

“Come in,” Robb croaks groggily, and if Theon didn’t know any better, he would think Robb had just woken up.

He hasn’t of course, because he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been receiving texts from Robb at all hours of the night. They’re nothing but pure nonsense. They’re just comments about whatever television program is on that late at night, but Theon doesn’t tell him to stop.

Robb’s sitting on the bed wearing black slacks, a white button-up that is half unbuttoned, and a striped blue tie hanging around his neck. He’s slouched over and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but he cracks the barest hint of a smile when he spots Theon in the doorway. Theon smiles back.

“I brought you this,” Theon says, holding the water bottle and cereal bar in his right hand while he shuts the door with his left.

“I don’t-”

“You need to eat,” Theon interrupts, already having been through this with Robb too many times in the past two days. 

He shoves the water towards Robb’s chest, waiting until Robb grabs hold of it, and he opens the wrapper on the bar, sticking it out to Robb when he has it halfway down. Theon sits next to him on the bed and watches him like a hawk. He’s taking small bites and chewing slowly, but at least he’s eating.

Theon didn’t pay much attention to the physical differences Robb now had when he first came over. He was too caught up in seeing Robb again. But now that he’s spent some time with him, he can’t believe he missed it.

His cheeks are sunken in and sallow. His body has lost a lot of the muscle definition he once had, morphing back into the lean figure he had when they were in high school. His hair has strands of gray running through it, and his eyes seem dimmer—flickering in a dull charcoal rather than shining in a luminescent blue. 

He looks broken.

Theon waits until Robb finishes all of what he gave him, and then he gathers everything to discard it in the small trash bin by Robb’s desk. He’s expecting Robb to start moving and finish getting himself ready since they have to leave in five minutes, but he stays where he is—motionless and staring at the wall in front of him. There’s a picture of Robb and Ned on the wall, both grinning from ear to ear on the day Robb graduated college, and Theon’s chest aches a little every time he catches sight of it. He doesn’t know how Robb can stand to look at it.

“We need to leave soon,” Theon mutters, and Robb nods his head, acknowledging that he heard, but he’s not making any effort to actually move.

Well, fuck it, Theon thinks.

He drops down onto his knees in front of Robb, and he can hear Robb let out a small gasp in surprise, but he determinedly ignores it. He has a job to do, and that’s making sure Robb doesn’t show up to his father’s funeral looking like a tramp off the street.

Theon’s glad Robb at least has his pants on, because he doesn’t think he would have been able to help him with that. He finishes buttoning Robb’s shirt all the way to the top, and then he lifts the collar so he can do up his tie. Robb’s gonna have to deal with the single knot due to his complete lack of talent for this particular task. He can feel Robb’s eyes boring into his skull while he works, and he ignores that too.

“Done,” he announces, smoothing Robb’s sleeves down.

He gets up to retrieve Robb’s suit jacket that’s haphazardly thrown over his chair, and he holds it out to him. Robb slips it on wordlessly, and Theon glances at his watch. Two minutes left. 

Theon reaches into his pocket to get his car keys out, and Robb grasps him on the wrist as soon as he has them dangling off his finger. He’s staring down at him intensely, and Theon swallows, hard.

“Thank you,” Robb whispers, tracing the pad of his thumb over the pulse point. 

Theon opens his mouth to say something, he just doesn’t know what. Luckily, he’s saved from having to struggle out a response by Catelyn yelling up the stairs and telling them they need to get going.

The ride to the cemetery is expectedly quiet. He switches the radio to an easy listening station, because he doesn’t think they should be shrouded in complete silence, and he keeps the volume low. Robb is resting his forehead against the streaky window, and he experiences a sudden flash of déjà vu, thinking about what he looked like after his own father’s funeral. 

It’s all wrong. He didn’t want to have _this_ in common with Robb. They’re just a pair of boys who lost their fathers four months apart. Although, Theon is going through grief for the first time.

When they step out of the car, they slip their sunglasses on and walk towards where the rest of the Starks are already lined up. There’s a polished, mahogany box situated in front of them, and Theon almost wants to hurl just looking at it. 

Robb goes to stand in between Jon and Sansa, and Theon starts inching away from, quickly scanning the area to find a place for _him_ to stand amongst the sea of mourners. He starts heading towards a shaded area that doesn’t have too many people around it, but Robb reaches out his hand to grab his wrist again. He doesn’t need to see Robb’s eyes to know they have that pleading look in them. So, he decides on standing behind Robb instead.

The priest’s words are lovely. He paints a picture of the type of man Ned Stark was, and Theon can tell he’s not grasping at straws or having to use generic language like the poor bastard at Balon’s funeral had to do. 

Jon’s the brave soul who has to deliver the eulogy. It’s short and to the point, just like Jon, but it has substance and meaning, just like Jon. He can hear Sansa sobbing quietly throughout it, so he grabs one of the tissues he had folded up and placed in his coat pocket, and he slips it into her hand. She taps his knuckle with her index finger in thanks.

The twenty-one gun salute is next. Every time a shot rings out, Robb startles, and Theon can see how much he’s shaking. It would be subtle to anyone else, but Theon _knows_ him. He can’t just stand here and watch Robb trembling right in front of him when he might be able to do something. 

He doesn’t even think about it before he’s placing a steady hand on Robb’s back, dragging his fingers gently along his spine. He can feel Robb begin to calm underneath his palm, so he continues his ministrations until the shuddering subsides. 

Once the pomp and circumstance is over, they start lowering the casket into the ground, gray straps creaking the whole time. Each of the Starks grab a flower from one of the many wreaths surrounding the area, and they throw them in after it. 

The hundreds of people in attendance swarm in on the family to pay their respects, but Robb isn’t having any of it. He steps back to where Theon is standing, planting himself firmly next to him, and he gathers up his hand in his. Robb interlocks their fingers, and he clings onto him, tightly. Theon glances up to see Catelyn looking over her shoulder, probably wondering where her eldest son had wandered off to, and her eyes widen slightly when she notices their conjoined palms.

He knows what it must look like. And he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t be letting Robb do this, because it’s quite possible that he can be getting the wrong idea about what’s happening between them, but he wants to _be_ there for Robb, and if this is what helps him, then so be it. Robb’s done it enough times for him.

They leave halfway through the procession, and drive back to the Stark home in more silence. The difference this time is that Robb hasn’t let go of Theon’s hand. Instead, he has their intertwined palms resting on the gear shift while Theon drives with the other. 

As soon as people start arriving for the “mandatory after-funeral get together” or whatever the fuck it is, Robb disappears up to his room. 

Theon stays with him most of the time, but he also wants to be with the rest of the Starks. He’s missed the lot of them. 

When he goes downstairs after laying Robb down to rest, he decides to take Rickon outside to play football on the makeshift field in their backyard. Arya joins them not long after, eventually followed by Bran. Arya ends up kicking the ball into the wrong goal, and she curses so loudly and colorfully that their Aunt Lysa clutches a scandalized hand to her chest. All four of them end up cracking up after that. They’re laughing, _genuinely_ laughing, and Theon is filled with a sense of pride that feels foreign to him. 

By the time Arya starts chasing Rickon around the yard and threatening to shave his head, Theon glances up towards Robb’s room. Robb’s standing in the window, holding the curtain aside, and he’s staring down at the scene below him with a soft smile on his face.

Theon stays downstairs for a bit longer. The sun has already set, and people are _finally_ starting to clear out, so he helps Ygritte put away the leftover food, and he even pries the soapy sponge out of Sansa’s hand, threatening to publish the diary he knows she keeps on the internet if he sees her in the kitchen one more time tonight. She relents with a playful roll of her eyes, and heads up stairs to take a shower.

He goes up to Robb’s room a little after 10:30, and Robb’s in the same place Theon found him this morning, except he has pajamas on this time. He’s not staring at the wall though, so maybe that’s something. 

“You okay?” Theon asks, dragging his fingers through Robb’s curly hair, and Robb takes that as his cue to bury his face in Theon’s abdomen, forehead resting on his sternum. 

“Thank you,” Robb mumbles, warm breath seeping through the thick fabric of his button-up. Theon quashes the urge to shiver.

“Robb, I already told you. You don’t-”

“I know you’ve told me I don’t have to thank you,” Robb cuts in, lifting his head, so he’s looking up at Theon with his big eyes shining with unshed tears. Robb places a gentle hand on each of Theon’s hips, and Theon holds his breath.

“But, I do,” Robb continues, rubbing circles on Theon’s waist. “You haven’t only been here for me, you’ve been here for all of us, and it means a lot. It really does.”

“It’s nothing,” Theon answers, moving his still hand out of Robb’s hair and placing it on his shoulder. 

Robb shakes his head, obviously not agreeing with Theon’s downplaying of the situation, but he doesn’t comment further.

“Do you need anything else before I leave? It’s getting late,” Theon says, already dreading the long drive back to Asha’s flat. 

Robb doesn’t say anything. He just keeps his hands firmly placed on Theon’s sides, and Theon’s starting to worry Robb’s slipped into one of those trances he’s been catching him in these past few days.

“Robb?”

“Can you stay here with me?” Robb questions meekly, licking his lips and looking up at Theon with an expression that can only be described as fear. “You know, for the night?”

Theon wants to say no, he _should_ say no, but the words of refusal get stuck in his throat. How can he leave Robb right now?

“Are you sure?” he asks instead, and Robb nods his head quickly. There’s not an inkling of doubt in the gesture.

“Okay,” Theon agrees, as he starts unfastening his shirt, but he stops halfway, beginning to feel weird about undressing in front of his ex-boyfriend. 

Sensing his dilemma, Robb reaches into his dresser to retrieve an extra set of pajamas that he used to wear in high school. They’ll fit Theon just fine though since Robb’s always been taller than him, even back then. Robb tells him to go get changed in the bathroom, and Theon obeys.

By the time Theon gets back into the room, Robb is already lying down on the right side, leaving the left side empty for Theon to slip into. This is the way they used to sleep back in their flat, Theon thinks with a sudden pang resounding in his chest.

As soon as he lies down and flicks off the bedside lamp, Robb shifts onto his side and grabs Theon’s hand, forcing him to curl towards him as well. Robb threads their fingers together for the third time today, resting their joined palms in the space between them, right below their chins, and moves his head closer to Theon’s. So much so, that Theon can feel Robb’s warm breath brushing against his cheekbone every time he exhales. 

He has that thought again. A niggling voice inside his head telling him that he should leave, and that he shouldn’t have agreed to stay the night, but it begins to quiet when Robb starts rubbing the pad of his thumb along the back of Theon’s hand with a serene look on his face.

\----------

When he wakes, thanks in large part to the thin curtains adorning the window that do nothing to block out the morning sun, he has to take a few seconds to gain his bearings.

The first thing he notices is the blue plaid comforter and gray sheets laid on top of him that are a far cry from the drab, army green comforter he has on his bed at Asha’s place. The thought stops him in his tracks.

He’s been living with Asha for four months already, and he still doesn’t think of it as his home too, even though he’s been paying half the rent. He wonders if he ever will.

Theon shakes his head, he really doesn’t need to be thinking about this shit right now, and he focuses on the space between him and Robb. Their hands are still clasped together, although their fingers aren’t intertwined quite as tightly since their bodies went lax.

He moves his gaze up to Robb’s face, and he wants to reach out and smooth the crease in between Robb’s eyebrows. It seems like he couldn’t find peace, even in sleep. He stops himself though. He doesn’t want to wake up Robb. He needs the rest. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than ever.

Theon attempts to detangle his hand from Robb’s so he can get up and take a piss, but he barely moves an inch before he feels Robb tightening his hold and sees Robb blinking open his bleary eyes.

“Morning,” Robb croaks out, after clearing his throat of the inevitable dryness that comes from hours of disuse.

“Morning,” Theon mutters back, trying to subtly scoot away from Robb to put at least a sliver more of distance between them.

“How did you sleep?” Robb asks, licking his lips and keeping his voice low.

“Good. You?”

“The best I’ve slept in a while,” Robb answers honestly, and there goes the pad of his thumb again, rubbing against the slightly roughened skin on the back of Theon’s hand.

Robb’s staring at him pretty intensely, and Theon starts to get nervous. Because he _knows_ this look.

It’s the same look Robb gave him before he kissed him for the first time. It’s the same look Robb had on his face when he burst in the door of their shared flat, picking Theon up and basically running them to the bedroom, after they were apart for two weeks because Robb had gone on vacation with his family. It’s the same look that’s proceeded countless passionate encounters after more than three years together.

Apparently the intention of that look hasn’t changed, because Robb has propped himself up on his elbow, and he’s leaning down. He closes his eyes in the last second, and Theon turns his head away.

There goes the déjà vu feeling again.

“Robb,” Theon starts, and he has to pause to swallow because he can feel Robb’s slightly chapped lips resting against the hinge of his jaw. “What are you doing?”

Robb lets out a soft huff and moves away, giving Theon the opportunity to finally unclasp their hands and sit up, so his back is resting against the headboard. Robb is on his knees in front of him, but he’s giving Theon his space, thankfully.

“I-, I-, I don’t know,” Robb stutters out, and it’s like someone’s let the wind out of his sails. “It’s just these last few days with you, it’s felt like it did _before_.”

“But, you know we’re not-”

“I know we’re not together,” Robb interrupts, raking a hand through his hair, and Theon notices the hint of bitterness in his tone. “It’s just-, I-, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much. You have no idea.”

“Of course I do,” Theon answers quickly, and Robb’s head snaps up in surprise. Did he really think Theon didn’t miss him? That he hasn’t missed him this whole time? 

“Even though I’m the one that ended things, it doesn’t mean that my feelings for you just magically went away,” Theon continues, straightening his spine. “Of course I missed you. Especially since, well, you know.” He means that they’re not friends anymore, but he doesn’t exactly want to say it out loud. 

“Why didn’t you ever call me then?” Robb asks, and he sounds angry now, but it’s layered under a thick blanket of somberness. “Even sending a text message would have helped.”

“It wouldn’t have helped, Robb,” Theon responds, because it wouldn’t have. It would have done the complete opposite. “You wouldn’t have been able to move on if I kept in contact with you, and I wanted you to have the chance to.”

“Did you?” Robb says sharply, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching.

“Did I what?”

“Did you ‘move on’?” Robb snaps dryly, and Theon can hear the unspoken air quotes. 

He thinks about lying to Robb, because his quickie in the bathroom didn’t count as moving on. In fact, all that encounter did was show him that he wasn’t ready to. And Theon doesn’t want to lie to him, but he doesn’t want to hurt him either.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-, it’s none of my business,” Robb mumbles, shaking his head in admonishment of himself. 

“There was one guy,” Theon replies softly, deciding that Robb deserves his honesty. About this at least. It’s the least he can give him. “But, it was a one-time thing. There hasn’t been anyone since.”

“Okay,” Robb whispers, inhaling a shaky breath and failing to conceal the flash of pain in his eyes. 

Theon feels another crack form on his heart. It probably looks like a mosaic at this point.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-,” Theon starts, trying to form some sort of apology, but Robb waves him off with a flick of his wrist.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who asked. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over them after that, so Theon scrambles off the bed and starts gathering his things. He should really get going. It’s still early enough that he can’t hear the ceremonial sounds of the Stark household in the mornings, and he really doesn’t want to have to explain to them what he’s still doing here.

Robb’s looking at him with the saddest fucking expression on his face, and Theon just _can’t_ leave it like this between them. 

“Hey,” he says before he can think better of it, and Robb perks up a tiny bit. “Maybe we can try to be friends again, you know? I think enough time has passed.” 

His offer completely contradicts what he was saying a few minutes ago, because it’s obvious Robb hasn’t moved on, and now Theon is putting friendship back on the table. But, he can admit to himself that these past few days, dire circumstances aside, have been nice. 

He may be doing this for selfish reasons.

“No,” Robb states simply, and Theon’s mouth drops open a fraction of an inch. He wasn’t expecting for Robb to dismiss him so quickly.

“It just-, it would never work,” Robb continues, rubbing his palms against the comfy cotton of his pajama pants, before getting up off the bed and standing a few feet away from the spot Theon has found himself rooted to. 

“Why not?” he asks, even though he has a feeling of what Robb’s answer is going to be.

“Because I’m in love with you. That’s never going to change for me. And I can’t be your friend when I know I’m going to want more, and when I know what being _more_ with you feels like. It would be complete torture.”

Theon swallows against the sudden lump in his throat and glances down at the scuffed floor. He understands where Robb is coming from, and he would be saying the exact same thing if his reasoning for ending things in the first place didn’t outweigh the sentiment.

“Okay,” he mutters, slowly lifting his gaze to meet Robb’s and biting his bottom lip. It’s a nervous tic that he and Robb share.

“Okay,” Robb echoes, shoulders slumping in defeat. He looks exhausted—so _fucking_ exhausted.

“I guess I should get going,” Theon says before awkwardness comes to shroud them again. “Should I?” he questions, tugging at the hem of the shirt Robb had lent him to sleep in, asking whether or not he should change back into his formal clothes from yesterday before he leaves.

“Keep them,” Robb answers, swiping a tired hand down his face. “I don’t use them anymore anyway.”

“Okay. Well, I should get going,” Theon repeats, picking up his clothes from the floor and slipping on his dress shoes, since he’s not stepping outside in socks. He can deal with looking ridiculous. 

Theon heads for the door, but before he can turn the knob, he pauses and turns back to Robb. “If you need anything, anything at all, ever, you can call me, alright? I’ll pick up this time. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Robb mumbles, and Theon can hear the way his voice cracks on that single word. 

Theon wants to do _something_. He wants to give Robb a hug and rub his back until he can feel the tension dissipate. He wants to squeeze Robb’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. He wants to grab Robb’s hand and run the pad of his thumb against the pulse point of his wrist like Robb has done for him so many times before. 

He gives him a pathetic wave instead, and turns to leave, shutting the door quietly behind him.

\----------

As he approaches the front door of Asha’s flat, there’s nothing that he wants more than to sleep for the next 24 hours, more to shut his brain off than because he’s actually tired.

But that foolproof plan goes flying out the window when he sees Asha sitting at the mismatched dining table with a cup of coffee in one hand and one of the many magazines she subscribes to in the other. He had asked her once why she didn’t switch to an online subscription and read them on her tablet, but she had told him that she liked the feeling of being able to physically flip the pages herself before she dismissed him.

“Nice outfit,” she deadpans, cocking a perfectly sculpted eyebrow up, and Theon stops in surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to say anything to him, because she hardly ever does.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, tightening his hold on his wrinkled clothing and continuing his walk towards his bedroom, but she starts speaking again before he can make it more than a few inches.

“Since when do you own a _Winterfell High Athletics Department_ shirt?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at the item in question, and Theon has no idea why she’s decided to be suddenly chatty now when the last thing he wants to do is talk.

“It’s Robb’s,” he replies, the statement slipping out of his mouth before he can think about it.

“Oh.”

She knows what happened with Robb and his father, they’re not that horrible at communicating with each other, and she knows he’s been going to the Starks place since it happened, but the fact that he walked in wearing Robb’s pajamas at close to 8:30 in the morning is giving her this look on her face. The look that usually means she’s itching to say something, and Theon can just bet what it is.

“How’s he doing?” she questions, and Theon finds himself sitting on the chair opposite her, because if she’s actually initiating conversation with him, _genuine_ conversation at that, then he’s not going to be the one to walk away.

“As well as can be expected, I guess,” he answers, dragging a hand through his longer than usual hair and exhaling a deep sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” Asha asks after a couple of minutes of silence, and Theon can feel himself tense up. 

“Sure,” he says cautiously, even though he _knows_ if he had said no she would’ve asked anyway.

“Why did you break up with him?”

“Wha-”

“Look,” she interrupts before he can start blithering like an idiot. “When you showed up on my doorstep I didn’t ask, right? Because I didn’t want to push it, and truthfully it wasn’t any of my business. But, I seriously don’t get it.”

“Just, stuff, okay?” She rolls her eyes at his vague and pathetic answer, and he steels himself for the rest of her inquisition.

“Stuff,” she snorts, mockery evident in her tone. “What did he do? Did you catch him fucking someone else in your bed? Did he show up one day pissed up to his eyeballs and punch you in the face? Did he break your laptop? Did he sneeze on your food? Did he drink milk directly out of the carton? Did he-”

“No,” he snaps, stopping her before she could trot out another ridiculous suggestion. “For fuck’s sake, you have no idea why we broke up!”

“Well shit, do _you_?” she fires back without missing a beat. The look on her face makes it seem like she’s won something.

“Look,” she begins, softening her tone as much as Asha _can_ soften her tone. “You have been abso-fucking-loutely miserable since you left him.”

Theon opens his mouth in shock, and Asha chuckles at him with a knowing glance.

“What? You thought I hadn’t noticed?” she asks, and yeah, actually. Theon didn’t think she paid enough attention to him for her to notice his mental well-being. “I’m not that self-involved you know.”

Silence falls over them once more, but it’s of the amicable kind. Theon wrestles with himself in his head about the pros and cons of telling her the truth, but he hasn’t been able to talk to anyone about this. He knows bottling it all up hasn’t helped matters. And, if anyone would understand where he’s coming from, it would be her, not because she’s like him, but because she knows their family just as well as he does.

“I broke up with him because of me,” he admits, keeping his eyes trained on the table in front of him.

“Did you give him that whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel?”

“A variation of that, I suppose.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna fuck it up with him eventually. It’s inevitable. So, I decided to end things now before it went any further.”

“Why do you say it’s inevitable?” she asks, and he can feel her gaze boring into the top of his skull. And, damn, she’s starting to sound like Robb.

“Come on, Asha. I’m a Greyjoy. It’s kind of our MO to fuck up.”

“That’s complete bullshit, and you know it.”

“Maybe to you,” he spits, and he does look up then, only to find her watching him with an unimpressed expression. “You’re an anomaly in this family. You might be the first fully-functional Greyjoy to come along in generations.”

“Again,” she repeats, leaning forward so she can rest her elbows on the table. “That’s complete bullshit, and you know it.”

“Oh, do I?” he chuckles sarcastically, but she seems serious.

“What did he say to you?” she asks, and Theon furrows his brows. 

“What do you-”

“Dad,” she cuts in, and Theon feels his stomach flip. “What did he say to you?”

He thinks about lying to her like he did to Robb. He thinks about getting up from his chair and telling her to mind her own fucking business.

“He told me that I would find a way to fuck it up,” he says, letting the words tumble out of his mouth, free from the constraints of his mind.

She doesn’t nod her head in agreement or hum in understanding, instead she rolls her eyes and scoffs with such force behind it that he’s wondering if she hurt her throat doing that.

“And you listened? I can’t believe you actually fucking _listened_!” she exclaims, looking at him like he’s a moron of the highest order. 

“It’s not like he was wrong,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around his middle and shrinking into himself.

“Since when do you put any stock into what he says?”

“Look, our father might have spoken a lot of nonsense, and rambled on about the most useless, inane shit, but he was right about this, okay? I would fuck it up, and I can’t hurt Robb like that.”

“Jesus, you sound like a blasting idiot.”

“Thanks,” he guffaws, putting his hand over his heart in false sentiment. “You’re awesome at giving pep talks.”

“I’m not trying to give you a pep talk,” she bites out, leveling him with an intense glare. “I’m trying to help you get your head out of your ass.”

“Okay, you know what?” she continues, and Theon rubs his sweaty palms against the soft cotton of Robb’s pajama pants. “You say that I’m the only one out of the whole lot of us that’s a ‘fully-functional’ human being, whatever the fuck that means, but if it seems like I have my shit together, it’s because I worked hard to make it that way. I didn’t let our dysfunctional family, and our less than stellar history, drag me down into their filth.”

“Well, maybe I’m not as strong as you,” he whispers, feeling all the anger drain out of him.

“Alright, I have a few more minutes of sincerity left in me, so I’m gonna need you to not interrupt and listen. Got it?”

Theon nods, and Asha clears her throat.

“Before your _delightful_ conversation with dad, what in your life indicated, or even gave you the slightest hint, that you would fuck it up?”

“I-, I don’t-”

“Did you ever think about cheating on him?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you ever think about hurting him intentionally, either physically or emotionally?”

“No.”

“Did you think of him as the most important person in your life?”

“I still do.”

“Then that’s it,” she says simply, and Theon blinks up at her owlishly. “You can’t control life, as the both of you just found out in one of the most brutal ways. But you _can_ control how you treat him. And as long as you love him and try to make him happy, then I would say you’re doing better than most.”

“But, I-, I just-, I don’t-”

“You know what you and he have isn’t normal, right?”

“What do you mean?” he questions, willing his voice not to crack, because he can’t remember the last time he and Asha had a heart-to-heart like this. Maybe they never have.

“You’ve been friends with each other since you were little kids. And instead of getting sick of each other or growing apart, you all actually got closer and closer, until you both decided that being friends wasn’t enough for you guys anymore. And, listen, I was only around the two of you a few times when you all were a couple, but the way you looked at each other was sickening. It was some googly-eyed, romance movie bullshit, and anyone could see how happy the both of you were.”

“But, what if I hurt him?” he asks quietly, voicing his biggest and truest fear.

“You might,” she admits, never one to sugarcoat anything. “But, I know you would never do it on purpose. And, maybe I don’t know Robb all that well,” she says, and Theon almost wants to laugh at the rarity of Asha using Robb’s name. “But, I think I know enough about him to know that you’ve already hurt him pretty badly, and the ironic thing is that you did it precisely _because_ you were trying _not_ to in the long run.”

“All I’m saying is,” she continues, getting up from her chair and gathering her stuff as though her moments of sincerity are in fact winding down, and she needs to leave before things surpass her comfort level. “Don’t stomp all over and spit in the face of something so many people would _kill_ to have. Let yourself be happy, little brother.”

He has to swallow past the lump in his throat, or else he’ll start crying, which he really doesn’t want to do, because the air of sentiment around them is getting unusually thick. 

And true to Asha form, she doesn’t hug him, or grab his hand in solidarity. Instead, she punches him on the shoulder, because that’s the closest she’ll get to any sort of loving gesture. 

He chuckles and gives her a shaky smile, and she saunters towards her room, throwing him a wink over her shoulder.

\----------

Theon thinks about calling Robb, he really does, but he doesn’t want to contact him until he’s truly _sure_.

Asha’s non-pep talk opened his eyes to things he wouldn’t allow himself to see or admit. They had him doubting his doubts. 

But, still, his father’s words laid down roots in his mind so deeply, that it’s going to take him a while to dig them out. And he doesn’t want to yank Robb around.

So, he waits, even though Asha keeps looking at him with an expression that screams “what the fuck are you waiting for, you idiot?” He’s been finding his finger hovering over the number two on the keypad of his cellphone a lot more often lately, though.

He finds himself in another should he or should he not call Robb situation, and then the decision is taken out of his hands when Robb’s name flashes across the screen. He fumbles with the phone, almost succeeding in sending it sailing towards the floor.

“Hello,” he answers somewhat awkwardly, wondering if Robb had somehow known that Theon was thinking about him.

“Hey,” Robb replies, and he sounds better than he did the last time Theon spoke to him, but not by much. He still sounds like something’s bothering him. 

“What’s up?”

“Um, I was just calling because the lease on our flat is gonna be up in two weeks, and I stumbled across a few of your things when I was packing my stuff. So, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming over to get them?”

Huh. That’s odd. He could’ve sworn he had taken everything with him all those months ago. Then again, he was gathering all his stuff in a hurry, so he could be done with it by the time Robb had gotten out of work.

“Uh, sure,” he says, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. “What time should I go?”

“Right now, if that’s okay? I’m here trying to finish things up,” Robb mutters, and Theon can sense his anxiousness even through the phone.

“Okay,” he agrees, because Robb shouldn’t have to deal with cleaning the place alone. They both lived there. And he’s determinedly ignoring the fact that Robb’s still referring to it as _their_ flat.

He hangs up the phone, looks down at his clothes and decides they’re okay, and he heads out the door with his heart hammering in his chest, because the last encounter he had with Robb was _interesting_ , to say the least.

Theon arrives 45 minutes later, and knocks on the door labeled 8F. He had placed his key on the entryway table when he left. 

Robb opens the door with an apprehensive expression, and he moves aside, allowing Theon to pass through. Theon scans his eyes across the living room and kitchen, the areas immediately visible from the entrance, and he turns his gaze on Robb, who’s standing by the closed door, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Um, I don’t think you understand the concept of packing,” Theon says, gesturing to the shelves that are littered with pictures, the coffee table that serves as a makeshift bookshelf, and all the pots and pans that are sticking out of the cabinets. It looks the exact same as when he left it.

“Yeah,” admits Robb guiltily, scratching the back of his head, and Theon notices that the tips of his ears have gone red. “It was the only thing I could think of to say to get you over here.”

“Robb,” Theon mutters, and there’s a thousand questions in that single word.

He continues to fidget for a couple of moments, but then it’s like the reasoning he has for bringing Theon here kicks in, and Robb straightens his back so he’s standing at his full height. Theon takes a few steps back.

“I’m not gonna let you do this to us anymore,” Robb says, and it’s so clear and resolute, that Theon feels like he’s talking to a completely different person than the one he was speaking to just a few moments ago.

“Do what?” Theon asks with confusion swimming in his eyes.

“You know what,” Robb snaps, walking a couple of paces forward. Theon continues to move backward, and he runs into the couch. “From my perspective, you don’t have a good reason for keeping us apart. Your half-ass one from when you broke up with me isn’t doing it for me anymore. So you either tell me the _real_ reason, or I’m gonna badger you until you do.”

Theon certainly wasn’t expecting _that_. Robb has never _forced_ him to talk, and sure he isn’t literally twisting his arm, but he believes Robb when he says that he’s going to keep persisting until he tells him the truth. 

“Theon, please tell me,” Robb says, voice softening, but he still has that determination, that _Stark_ stubbornness, glittering in his gaze. “What was it that made you, from one day to the next, believe that you were gonna screw up our relationship, so much so that you decided to leave me and never speak to me again?”

“Robb, I-”

“Please,” he begs, moving closer until there’s only a foot of space between them. 

Theon’s first instinct is to run, so he does just that. He bolts for the front door, but Robb is quicker, he’s _always_ been quicker, and he slams his back up against the door, blocking his exit. 

The constant déjà vu he’s been experiencing these last two weeks is getting to be too much. 

“No,” Robb says sharply, spreading his legs farther apart to widen his obstruction. “Not this time.”

“Robb, just let me go,” Theon whispers, mumbling his words to the floor, but Robb hooks a finger under his chin and lifts his head up.

“I want you to look me in the eyes, and tell me that you’ve been happier without me.”

He can’t.

“I want you to look me in the eyes, and tell me that you don’t want to be with me.”

He can’t.

“I want you to look me in the eyes, and tell me that you don’t love me.”

He _definitely_ can’t do that. Because he does love him. He loves him with everything, fucking _everything_ , he has.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you,” Theon mumbles, wishing that Robb would let go of his chin, so he wouldn’t have to look into those earnest blue eyes demanding things from him that he’s not sure he can give.

“But, you have _hurt_ me,” Robb shoots out, and Theon feels another crack etch onto his heart. Asha had told him the same thing, and Theon knows it as well, but it takes on a different weight coming out of Robb’s mouth.

“I’ve been absolutely _miserable_ without you,” Robb continues, “and I think you know that.”

“I-”

“Theon. Tell me,” Robb repeats, and Theon breaks. He can feel his chin trembling between Robb’s fingers.

“It was my father,” he croaks, and Robb’s face falls.

“What do you mean?”

“When I went to go see him,” he starts, taking a deep breath before proceeding. “He started saying the same shit he always did, but I looked at him, I _really_ looked at him, lying there all lonely and bitter, and it’s like I could see myself in his place. I felt like I was destined to end up like him.”

“You’re not,” Robb says resolutely, letting go of his chin, so he can put a hand on either side of Theon’s neck. “You’re not your father. You never have been.”

“He told me I was gonna screw up what I had with you, that I would find a way to fuck it up, so I decided to end things before I could prove him right.”

“God, Theon,” Robb breathes, dropping his head in a tired sigh. “He wasn’t right, and even if you’re not sure of that, _I_ am. And I would hope that you would trust me and believe me more than him.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I know you,” Robb replies, jostling his head a little. “I’ve known you practically your whole life, and I wouldn’t _still_ be here, after all this time, if I thought that you were the person your father seemed to think you are. And the _only_ way that you’ll end up being lonely is by pushing away the people who love you.”

Theon doesn’t say anything after that, but he does feel the tears welling up in his eyes and his body start to shake.

Robb moves his right hand down to grab Theon’s left wrist, and then he brings it up to his mouth and kisses the inside. Theon gasps, and Robb does it again.

He travels towards the crook of Theon’s elbow, his shoulder, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, the hinge of his jaw, and his sharp cheekbone, Robb’s mouth trailing kisses over each one.

Robb leans back a bit after that, far enough away that Theon can look into his eyes without his vision blurring, but not far enough where he can’t feel Robb’s warm breath puffing out against his face. 

He flicks his gaze between Theon’s eyes and his mouth, and then he kisses his lips with trepidation. It’s chaste and dry, and it’s the sweetest kiss Theon’s ever received. Robb moves back with a nervous look on his face, and he’s sporting a blush high on his cheeks. 

Theon reaches out with his right hand, and it’s like his body is acting of its own accord. He takes his index and middle finger, and he traces them over the defined outline of Robb’s perfect mouth. He swipes the pad of his thumb over Robb’s full bottom lip, and he can feel how hard Robb is breathing. His chest is heaving up and down, most likely because he just wants to grab Theon and kiss him senseless, but he’s holding back for Theon’s sake.

So, naturally, Theon takes the initiative. He grasps Robb’s face between his hands and smashes their lips together. Robb immediately opens up for him, and they moan in unison once Theon snakes his tongue inside. Robb wraps his strong arms around Theon’s back, and he brings them flush together. 

They’re kissing frantically, and Theon almost wants to sob into Robb’s mouth because he’s missed this so damn much. It’s been months since he’s felt Robb’s lips on his, and he almost forgot what it felt like. He never wants to forget again.

When they finally break apart, due to air being a thing that they need, they’re both panting and staring at each other with wide-eyed gazes. They stay close though, and Theon leans his forehead against Robb’s, while he tangles his fingers in his curly hair. 

“Theon,” Robb whispers, words practically spoken against his lips.

“Yeah?” he answers, placing his free hand on Robb’s waist.

“Does this mean-, are we-”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank god,” Robb exhales in relief, and then he kisses Theon again with such intensity that he stumbles back from the force of it. He can feel Robb’s fingers tangle in his hair, and he returns the gesture.

When they break apart for air once more, Theon notices that Robb’s lips look red and wet and kiss-swollen, and it’s a good look on him. It’s a fucking _great_ one. He hasn’t seen Robb like this in such a long time, and he misses the twinge of satisfaction he used to get just knowing that he was the reason for it.

Robb’s still staring at him with a piercing gaze, but his features have gone softer around the edges, instead of being contorted in desperation and pent-up tension. He wordlessly takes Theon by the wrist and walks them towards the bedroom. Theon goes knowing perfectly well what’s about to happen.

When they get into the room, everything _slows_ down. Things aren’t as frenzied and rushed as they were in the living room, and Theon has to suppress a shiver because Robb’s dancing his fingertips across the sensitive skin of one side of his neck while he places barely there kisses on the other.

Robb pulls back after a couple of minutes of attention, and he hooks his fingers on the hem of Theon’s t-shirt. He looks into Theon’s eyes, waiting until Theon grants him permission, and when he does, Robb lifts it languidly, tossing it aside when the item is completely off.

He wastes no time in ducking his head and bestowing open-mouthed kisses all along Theon’s collarbones and sternum, while he glides his palms across Theon’s bare back. Robb walks them further backwards until Theon’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and Robb lowers him down to the mattress with a strong arm around his waist.

Robb lifts his head, giving Theon the opportunity to situate himself into a comfortable position, which means heaving himself higher on the bed and laying down on the propped up pillows, that, after all this time, still smell like them.

Once he’s settled, Robb hovers over him, straddling his waist and placing a hand on each side of Theon’s torso. He noses at the hinge of Theon’s jaw, forcing it to tilt upwards with the movement, and he kisses a sweet path down his throat and chest, until his warm breath is huffing out against the skin just above the button of his jeans.

Just like before, Robb places his hand on the fastening, but he waits for Theon to give him the go ahead before he removes them. He unbuttons and unzips his pants with practiced ease, and they work to get the article of clothing off of Theon together. His boxers follow, and this time he does tremble under the weight of Robb’s stare, as he rakes his eyes all across his exposed body.

It’s starting to nag at him that Robb is still fully dressed, so he sits up with purpose, and moves to assist Robb in taking his shirt off. Theon places his fingers on the hem, and Robb places his hands over his, effectively halting his progress.

“Theon,” Robb whispers, and it almost sounds ashamed. Theon has no idea what for. “I’m not as _in shape_ as the last time we did this.”

“Robb,” Theon says quickly, and he almost wants to laugh at the fact that Robb is actually embarrassed about no longer having a six-pack or whatever. “I honestly don’t give a fuck. I just want to see you,” he finishes, giving Robb a gentle peck on the cheek, which makes Robb blush all the way up to his ears.

This time, Robb lets him lift the shirt over his head, and he takes care of his own jeans and boxers. He gets back on the bed, and Theon sticks his hand out, so he can drag his fingertips down Robb’s freckled torso. 

He’s so _beautiful_. He always has been. And yeah, maybe Robb has lost some of his tone, but Theon’s been attracted to Robb since he was a gangly thirteen-year-old with a mouth full of metal. Fewer muscles doesn’t hinder or diminish his desire for him.

So, Theon decides to show him.

Robb smiles at him as Theon gathers his face between his palms and fits their lips together, dragging Robb down with him so he ends up on his back again. He continues to run his hands along whichever inch of skin he can reach, and Robb groans into his mouth, grinding his hips down so his cock rubs right alongside Theon’s. Now it’s Theon’s turn to groan.

He feels, rather than sees, Robb stretching towards the drawer of the nightstand, and retrieving a bottle of lube and a condom. They always had that thing well-stocked, because more than three years together did nothing to dull their sex drive.

Robb moves his mouth down to Theon’s neck, and Theon cranes his head to the side, while threading his fingers through Robb’s curly locks. He hears the cap on the bottle pop open, and he arches up in anticipation.

When Robb places one slicked-up digit inside of him, Theon fists the bedsheets between both his hands, and Robb chuckles against the hollow of his throat. He drags his nose down Theon’s sternum, and then he gives a whisper of a kiss to the tip of Theon’s cock. Theon whines, and Robb laughs again.

He’s about ready to flick Robb on his ear, and tell him to stop being such a tease, but before he can, Robb engulfs Theon’s dick in his mouth, and all semblance of thought goes flying out of Theon’s head.

Robb inserts a second finger, and he swirls his tongue, hollows his cheeks, licks, and sucks at Theon’s cock, taking him deep into his throat more than a couple of times, and Theon runs his hands through his own hair, because he’s getting to that point where he tries to desperately hold on to his composure, but he fails every. single. time. Robb bobs his head and pumps his fingers in and out in synchronized movements, and Theon’s about to explode.

“Robb,” he pants, tapping on Robb’s head with a weak touch. “Come on.”

He lets him go with an exaggerated pop, but he still breaches him with a third finger to make sure he is indeed prepared for what comes next. He looks blissfully mussed, and he watches Theon the whole time he’s scissoring his digits, and crooking them just _so_ , making them hit Theon’s prostate with expert precision. He’s seriously not going to last much longer, and he sends Robb a pleading look to let him know.

Robb slips his fingers out, and Theon groans at the loss of contact, but he doesn’t whine this time, because things are going to get _a lot_ better. He helps Robb roll the condom on, and he lubes himself up, pumping his shaft into full hardness.

“You ready?” Robb asks, positioning the tip of his cock at Theon’s entrance, and Theon writhes on the bed.

“Yes,” he sobs, kicking his heel against the back of Robb’s thigh. 

Robb begins to drive himself in, and they both moan in unison. It’s been _way_ too fucking long.

By the time Robb’s fully seated inside him, pelvis flush against his ass, Theon has his back bowed off the mattress, and Robb shushes him with his lips at the shell of his ear.

“Go,” Theon commands, and Robb does. He’s not slamming into him, or establishing a frantic pace. Instead, he’s undulating his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Theon closes his eyes, and lets the sensation of Robb inside him wash over. 

He doesn’t know if they ever fucked like this, and he doesn’t even know if what they’re doing _is_ fucking. Even when they first got together, it was animalistic and passionate, and this is no less mind-blowing, it’s just different. He can’t say he minds it. 

Robb kisses him, and Theon returns the gesture in earnest. He hooks his arms under Robb’s, and he lightly trails his nails along his back. 

“Open your eyes,” Robb mumbles against his lips, never once breaking his steady rhythm. “Open your eyes, baby. I wanna see you.” Theon can’t refuse him. 

He opens his eyes, and Robb grins warmly down at him. “There we go,” he whispers, dragging the pad of his thumb along Theon’s bottom lip. 

Robb presses their foreheads together, and he picks up the pace. Theon groans and throws his head back, driving his chin against Robb’s mouth, and Robb nips at it. Robb moves his hands towards Theon’s hips, and he speeds it up even more, so that he’s hitting that spot within him every time.

“I’m-, I’m-,” Theon stutters, but Robb gets it.

He wraps his hand around Theon’s cock, and he strokes it in time with his thrusts. Robb leans his forehead on Theon’s once more, and they try to give each other sloppy kisses as they reach their climax, missing more than they connect because one or the other can’t stop moaning or groaning or crying out.

It takes one, two, three more strokes for Theon to start shooting streams of come all over Robb’s hand and his own chest. Robb follows a few seconds after he finishes, and then they collapse in a sweaty heap of tired limbs. Theon runs his fingers through Robb’s hair, and they both wait for their breathing to even out.

Robb lifts himself up on shaky arms after a few minutes, and he leans down to place another sweet kiss on Theon’s mouth, letting his bottom lip linger before moving away completely. 

“I love you,” Robb whispers, and Theon tugs him down, rolling them onto their sides so that they’re facing each other.

“I love you too,” he replies, placing a clammy hand on Robb’s cheek, and rubbing his thumb across his sharp cheekbone.

They stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like centuries, and Robb looks so pleased, so sated, so _happy_ , that Theon is truly comprehending, for the first time, how much he hurt him.

“I’m so sorry,” Theon chokes out, and he can feel the tears forming.

“For what?” Robb asks, confusion evident in his tone and his features, and he nudges himself closer.

“For hurting you,” Theon admits, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the hitch in his voice. “I thought I was doing you a favor, god, I really did. But, now I see that I wasn’t. I never meant to hurt you like this. You have to believe me,” he begs, grabbing Robb’s hand, and placing their conjoined palms on his heart. “It’s the last thing I wanted.”

“Theon, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Robb. I hurt you.”

“It’s okay because we’re together now, alright?” Robb says gently, kissing Theon on the tip of his nose, a gesture that always makes him crack a smile, even if he’s on the verge of tears streaming down his face like he is now.

“I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

“Good,” Robb breathes, eyes flicking down for just a second. “Because I don’t think, no, I _know_ , I won’t be able to handle that again. So, you and me, always, okay?”

“You and me, always,” Theon agrees, and he burrows into the safety and warmth of Robb’s arms where he belongs.


End file.
